


And Your Bird Can Sing

by madeofmemories, theMaskedMan, TheRealRyanMurphy



Series: Glee, But It's Good [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Ali Stroker as Artemis Abrams, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Female Artie Abrams, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Jesse St. James is still at Carmel, Klainebastian if you squint, Kurt stayed on the football team in Season 1, M/M, Partial Canon Divergence, Season 2 Novelization, Sebastian is here and is also a freshman, Slow Burn, Tina Mike and Sam are freshmen for Reasons, Tina's last name is just Cohen, Tyler Ford as Noah Puckerman, no adult storylines just the kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26991289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeofmemories/pseuds/madeofmemories, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theMaskedMan/pseuds/theMaskedMan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealRyanMurphy/pseuds/TheRealRyanMurphy
Summary: Rachel and Kurt aren’t going to come up short again. Fresh off a run to the show choir regional championship, and with the help of Kurt's step-brother-to-be Finn Hudson and Rachel’s unlikely new best friend Quinn Fabray, they’re determined to take their team to the next level. But when a new rival show choir appears on the scene promising Kurt something Rachel can’t give him, the once tight-knit family of the New Directions threatens to be torn apart. And while Rachel remains obsessed with vanquishing Jesse St. James and Vocal Adrenaline once and for all, the charismatic captain of the Dalton Academy Warblers may prove an even more formidable foe - provided he can keep his chaotic, meerkat-faced sidekick in check.A Glee Season 2 re-write that’s gayer and has less Will Schuester.
Relationships: Artie Abrams/Brittany S. Pierce, Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Blaine Anderson/Sebastian Smythe, Carole Hudson-Hummel/Burt Hummel, Emma Pillsbury/Will Schuester, Finn Hudson/Noah Puckerman, Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe, Mike Chang/Tina Cohen-Chang, Noah Puckerman/Lauren Zizes, Rachel Berry & Kurt Hummel, Rachel Berry/Finn Hudson, Rachel Berry/Jesse St. James, Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray, Sam Evans/Finn Hudson, Sam Evans/Quinn Fabray, Santana Lopez/Brittany S. Pierce
Series: Glee, But It's Good [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566997
Comments: 35
Kudos: 90





	1. Audition

**Author's Note:**

> *This is the second part of a larger project. It's highly recommended that you read part 1 (aka Season 1 - Once More From The Top) to understand all of the changes we made to canon.
> 
> And we're back! Let's start off Season 2 strong with some auditions, shall we?
> 
> Chapter written by - Cecelia / TheRealRyanMurphy

**The Glee Project**  
**(Ohio’s Number One Show Choir Blog)**

**Vocal Adrenaline look for a three-peat, but could a dark horse change everything?**  
**By timelordangeldetective241119**

Welcome back, Gleeks, to another season on the competitive show choir circuit! It’s been a rather mundane couple of years around here since Jesse St. James showed up and pushed Vocal Adrenaline over the top, and even with female lead Giselle and lead dancer Shoshandra graduating, St. James appears poised to lead a talented freshman class to a historic third straight national championship. But while Midwest Regionals runner-up Aural Intensity reels from the loss of their coach to an unexplained head injury and public backlash to a setlist perceived as pandering to the judges, the surprise third-place finishers from Lima, Ohio, appear poised to mount a serious challenge to the Carmel throne.

We spoke with their captain, junior Rachel Berry, who so memorably burst onto the scene at last year’s West Central Sectionals with a Barbra impression the likes of which we haven’t seen in a long time. The following remarks have been edited for clarity and profanity.

**Rachel Berry: “Thank you so much for speaking to me, and I’m so happy that the legendary Glee Project is finally taking notice of our merry band of misfits.”**

TGP: Let’s get the elephant in the room out of the way. Do you wish to address the conflicting reports about your involvement in the still-murky circumstances of Jesse St. James’ temporary transfer to McKinley last year, and the alleged violent encounter that occurred in the parking lot right before Regionals?

**Rachel Berry: “Absolutely not. Last year was last year, and we’re on to a new season.”**

TGP: You’re widely regarded as having carried the New Directions to Regionals on your back last year with a performance that seems impossible to replicate. Are you feeling the pressure to take the team even further this year?

**Rachel Berry: “You know, it’s funny, I had always dreamed of that moment, but I wasn’t even supposed to sing that song - Mercedes Jones was going to have the solo for Sectionals because I was saving _Don’t Rain on My Parade_ for when the stakes were higher, and then our setlist got stolen and we had to revamp our performance on the spot. But, you know, that’s showbiz: when your star is called on, you have to shine bright enough for everyone. And I’m ready to do that, for sure, but I also know my teammates can and would do the same for me.”**

TGP: How do you respond to skeptics who say that the New Directions’ signature aesthetic of scrappy underdog liberalism is just a facade for an unprofessional and poorly coached karaoke group that always puts you at the center when it counts?

**Rachel Berry: “I’d say ‘Hi, Coach Sylvester, always a pleasure’.” [laughs] “People are always going to judge you for trying too hard, for caring too much, for being too unapologetic about who you are, but the fact is that being a part of something special makes you special. That’s as true of me as it’s true of the members who never get any solos. We can’t control the narrative that gets put out about us, but we can prove you all wrong by winning Nationals as the family that we are.”**

TGP: You seem fairly confident for a group that, to be frank, didn’t appear all that close to beating Vocal Adrenaline, who have retained their lead singer and typically get a massive influx of talent every year. What’s different about the New Directions this year that will not only fend off the recently re-sectioned Dalton Academy Warblers but actually challenge Vocal Adrenaline for the Regionals crown?

**Rachel Berry: “Well, I can’t speak to Dalton Academy, though I do look forward to competing against a real acapella group for once. But I know Jesse St. James, and I know he always works alone. I’ve been meeting all summer with my alternate captains, Finn Hudson and Kurt Hummel-”**

TGP: The bari who can’t dance and the countertenor?

**Rachel Berry: “I don’t appreciate the implication in your tone; they’re both incredible talents and any show choir would be lucky to have them.”**

TGP: Sorry, sorry, continue.

**Rachel Berry: “Anyway, that’s what’s different about us. I’d bet on my talent against any diva in the country, yes, but I’m just one leg of a trinity, and even the three of us are just one puzzle piece of the beautiful tapestry that is the New Directions. We have depth, we have versatility, and most importantly we have heart. So there’s your difference.”**

TGP: I think you’re starting to mix metaphors, so we’ll wrap it up. Just one last question: it’s been widely assumed since your well-received duet of Journey’s _Faithfully_ that you’ve been dating Finn Hudson-

**Rachel Berry: [laughs nervously] “That’s right.”**

TGP: But what do you say to rumors that you and former National Cheerleading Champion Quinn Fabray are-

_Editor’s note: this interview ended abruptly due to an altercation resulting in the destruction of recording equipment, for which The Glee Project has since been compensated._

***

Kurt closes the laptop and looks up from his spot on Rachel’s bed, where he’s been swimming in sheet music all afternoon. “You know nobody actually reads the show choir blogs, right?”

Rachel finally stops angrily pacing, flopping down next to him with an exasperated sigh. “Maybe not last year, but traffic is really picking up. I think we might be in the middle of another theater kid wave.”

Kurt concedes the point. “There’s one in every generation.”

“And if anyone at McKinley sees this, it could ruin everything.”

Kurt frowns down at his work before taking another run at the page with his extremely worn down eraser. He’s been working on this duet version of _Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again _for months, and he still can’t find an arrangement that doesn’t sound completely nonsensical.__

____

____

“I don’t know, to me, it just reads like you were defending the honor of your heterosexuality; your response was certainly violent enough. No one is going to think you outed yourself.”

“Ok, first of all, the kid was fine, they just dropped the recorder when I lunged for it.” Rachel pulls her headband off and runs her hands through her hair in agitation. “And second, I’m not worried about me, I’m worried about Quinn.”

Kurt doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“She’s just been through so much in the last year, you know? The last thing she needs is some random busybody ruining her life again by spreading ridiculous rumors that she’s in love with me. If something happened to her because she was friends with me, I don’t know what I would do.”

Kurt gathers his sheet music and puts it on the floor. Andrew Lloyd Weber will have to wait.  
“Alright, that’s it. C’mere.”

He sits up and pats the veritable mountain of pillows next to him - seriously, he doesn’t know how that girl’s head stays attached to her neck when she sleeps - and Rachel makes a performance of rolling her eyes before giving in and curling up next to him, her head falling against his shoulder.

“You can’t let the blogosphere go to your head; they read into everything. The average neanderthal bully at McKinely knows enough to go after me for being gay because they can see it from a mile away, but you’re just the ‘Glee Club girl’ to them at this point; they’ll be too busy slushying you to notice that you and Quinn-”

“Oh come on, not you too.”

“-have kind of a vibe.” He smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I’ve seen too much of you together this summer to pretend you don’t have genuinely fantastic chemistry. And I haven’t even been to any of your Saturday night Hearts games with the Unholy Trinity.”

Rachel frowns. “It’s still so new. This time last year we hated each other. I just… I really don’t want to mess this up.”

He hates how small she sounds.

“Rachel.”

“Yeah?”

“The only way you’re gonna screw it up is if you start tiptoeing around her because of how you think other people are going to react. Quinn’s lucky to have a friend who loves her as fearlessly as you do. Don’t shy away from that.”

Rachel fiddles with the ends of her hair, but Kurt’s relieved to see some of the nervousness leave her eyes. “Yeah, maybe you're right.”

“Plus, you’ve got Finn as your boyfriend and/or beard, depending on what week it is.”

“Oh, shut up.” _There’s that signature blush._ “Just because we don’t like to put a label on what we have doesn’t mean-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m just teasing.” They’re both smiling now, so he figures it’s working. “Anyone can see it’s the romantic bromance of a generation.”

“I said _shut up.”_

There’s a long, relaxed silence, and then Rachel gives his arm a squeeze. “You always give the best advice, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah. I try. Now come on, help me pick out a decent harmonization before Finn gets back from the tire shop and tries to get us to workshop that U2 number for the five hundredth time.”

She obliges, rolling onto her stomach and almost falling off the bed entirely as she picks up the sheet music and rifles through the pages.

“What about you?” She pauses as she leans over to grab a pen off her desk. “You must be nervous about going back. I mean, after the way last year ended-”

Kurt shakes his head. “No more than usual. I can handle the guys on the Titans by now, and Finn and Puck have sworn a blood oath that if any of them go after me, heads will roll.”

“Are they still on good terms? I know Quinn calls Puck every week, but she can’t get a read on how they’re doing, and neither of us has seen them together all summer.”

“Yeah, Puck’s just busy with his pools. And he doesn’t really like to touch a football until the season starts, which is why he never shows up when Finn and Quinn start tossing it around in our backyard.”

Rachel scoffs. “You say that as if you haven’t been right there with them for months.”

Kurt shrugs. “Look, I got caught unprepared trying to throw a football in a game once and I almost got my bones turned to sand. Never again.”

He drags himself off the bed and tries to stretch the stiffness out of his neck. “And it wouldn’t be so embarrassing if you would get out of your damn lawn chair and make it an even number.”

Rachel shakes her head. “Oh no you don’t; watching sports is one thing, but I know better than to humiliate myself by trying to actually participate. Quinn would never let me live it down.”

Kurt is about to respond that that’s exactly why it would be so much fun, but the sound of a car door closing outside their window cuts him off.

“That’ll be Finn.” He glances down to where Rachel is still trying to scribble notes for the arrangement. “Don’t worry about that, we’ll figure out something else.”

Rachel sighs. “I know, I just - I want it to be perfect. Obviously, it’s not our last chance, but Nationals being in New York this year is a once in a lifetime opportunity, and if the two of us can find the right song I know we can win it all.”

“And we will.” Kurt doesn’t actually share her confidence, but the best thing about Rachel is that she’ll believe him anyway. “Even if we have to break the glass and use Defying Gravity, we’re going to take that trophy home. Together.”

Rachel’s smile is the brightest he’s seen from her all day. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

“When have I ever let you down?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You really want me to answer that?”

“Makeovers don’t count.”

“Fair enough.”

And with that, she takes his hand and pulls him down the stairs to where their other best friend is waiting for them.

***

Rachel used to dread the first day of school.

Sure, she understood intellectually that all the people telling her to shave her face or go back to the Shire were just resentful echoes of a past that she was already in the process of leaving behind forever. But the sheer loneliness of stardom had taken its toll, and the certainty of what was to come didn’t make it easier to bear in the present.

But things are different now.

So when she rounds the corner and sees the smiling face of McKinley’s former Head Cheerio, she doesn’t brace herself for a slushie to the face.

Instead, she shouts “Quinn!” and opens up her strides to take a running leap into the taller girl’s arms.

“Woah there, Tiger.” Quinn stumbles a bit but uses Rachel’s momentum to spin them around, lifting Rachel’s feet off the ground for the briefest of moments. “Easy on the ribs.”

“Sorry.” Rachel lets go but doesn’t rush to back away. “I just missed you.”

“Rachel,” Quinn frowns, “we saw each other last week. We’ve seen each other every week since the summer began.”

Rachel blushes hard - she really thought she would have lasted more than a day before completely embarrassing herself - but tries to brush it off. “And?”

Quinn smiles. “Alright, fair point. I missed you too, dork.”

Rachel risks a glance around the halls, but nobody seems to be paying them any attention. So far, so good.

“Walk me to choir practice?”

“Well, since I’m already headed that way I’d be kind of an asshole if I didn’t.”

_Maybe this year really will be different._

But then she sees what’s approaching from behind Quinn, and her instincts kick back in.

“DUCK!” She grabs Quinn’s waist and tries to sweep her behind her, and she manages to shield her from the worst of it, but she’s too slow to spare her friend completely as the familiar wall of blue raspberry ice slams into them. She glances over her shoulder to try to locate the perpetrator, but they’re already gone.

Quinn stares up at her, her hair absolutely ruined - which is a shame, because she looks so much better with it down. Rachel’s never really noticed until now how much the old Cheerios ponytail was holding her back.

“Did- did you just try to take a bullet for me?” Quinn’s trying not to laugh, but her eyes are shining with genuine warmth, and it makes the sting of the ice and shock of the attack wear off quicker than it ever has.

“Didn’t really do a very good job, did I?” Rachel laughs, pulling Quinn towards the bathroom. “C’mon, I’ll help you get it off.”

Quinn shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Rachel squeezes her hand. “Don’t worry, I still owe you from last year. And besides, I know the drill with these. We won’t even be that late.”

As it turns out, they are pretty late, but that’s the benefit of being the captain. The Glee Club meeting starts when she walks in.

“… and that’s why Christopher Cross is actually one of the most underrated artists of the 1980s - Rachel! There you are. ” Mr. Schue turns away from the group of eight students who were perfectly split between giving him thousand-yard stares and evil eyes. “And Quinn too, great.”

“Sorry guys,” Rachel smiles apologetically. “We just had to get each other cleaned up-”

“Wanky.” Rachel tries not to dignify that with words and settles for giving Santana her best angry stare down. Santana just blows her a sarcastic kiss in response.

“From the first slushie attack of the year,” she finishes meekly, crossing to take the empty seat between Finn and Kurt while Quinn climbs the riser to join Santana and Brittany, looking just as flustered as Rachel feels.

“Well, now that our captain is here, we can officially kick-off the 2010-11 season.” And with a ceremonial flourish, Mr. Schue uncaps his marker and applies his signature underlined block letters to the whiteboard with gusto:

AUDITION

“Wait, Mr. Schue, you’re not gonna make us try out again to keep our spots, are you?” Puck speaks up from the back, and Rachel’s taken aback by the nervousness in his voice. “Because Shannon is already making us do that for the Titans.”

Mr. Schue shakes his head. “Not at all; all of you have more than earned your place on this team for as long as you want to be here.”

“Except me,” Lauren pipes up. “You’ve never heard me sing once, you just let me in because you needed an extra body.”

Rachel frowns; this doesn’t make sense. “But if you aren’t making us re-audition, then what are you suggesting? Are these tryouts for the musical?”

Mr. Schue laughs. “Unfortunately no, though stay tuned on that - we couldn't get the rights to Grease, so we’re scrambling to try to find an alternative. I’m talking about you guys holding auditions to get some new blood into the club.”

A twinge of fear runs through Rachel. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, we spent so much time coming together as a family last year - why would we want to risk disrupting that chemistry with so much at stake?”

“Oh please.” Even though she’s sitting behind her, Rachel can tell Mercedes is rolling her eyes. “Don’t pretend this is about the team, Rachel. We all know you’re just nervous someone else will come in and steal your spotlight.”

Rachel fights back a twinge of guilt - there’s more to it than that, but she knows she hasn’t exactly earned back their trust after the Jesse debacle.

“Besides, last year we were only good enough for third place,” Mr. Schue continues. “I’m so proud of what you guys accomplished, but if we’re really going to take it to the next level we need to evolve from a small rebel force to a giant wall of sound.”

“Mr. Schue’s right.” Rachel looks up in surprise as Kurt puts a reassuring hand on her knee.

“You guys didn’t see Vocal Adrenaline last year, and as much as I still think they lack a certain _je ne sais quoi,_ the fact of the matter is that numbers make a difference. They sound bigger, they look bigger, they have more pieces to work with. As long as we’re only hitting the bare minimum number of bodies for competition, we have no chance.”

“Plus, we desperately need another dancer.” Santana looks around uncomfortably when the eyes in the room turn to her. “What? Britt’s talents are utterly wasted when she doesn’t have anyone else who can keep up with her, and even I can only do that up to a point.”

“Only because you refuse to learn the boy parts,” Brittany mutters, and for some reason, Rachel feels compelled to move things along before that exchange can go any further.

“Kurt, are you sure? I mean, you were right about Jesse; aren’t you worried about a repeat of last year?”

“One bad actor doesn’t mean we can afford to shut out anyone new who comes into our lives.” Quinn says it to the room, but her words carry a weight that Rachel knows is directed at her. Probably because she knows it will work.

“You’re right, of course, you’re right.” Rachel resists the urge to get up and start pacing the room. “But it was hard enough to get to a full roster last year - why should we think anything has changed?”

“Because there are hundreds of students at this school, and we only need to find a few who are looking for an outlet.” Finn, having no such restraint, gets up to join Mr. Schue at the front of the room.

“And to do that, all we need to do is to show them what we’ve got. Just like _Push It,_ except, you know, actually good this time.”

Mercedes sighs. “Alright, Mr. Schue, which arrangement of _Don’t Stop Believin’_ do you want this time - original or Regionals?”

Mr. Schue shakes his head. “As much as I hate to say it, no Journey this time. You guys were on the right track when you tried to give the people what they wanted - if we’re really going to make the case to the student body that the New Directions are the champions of the future, we need to hit them with the song of the summer.”

A ripple of understanding goes through the entire room. Artie’s eyes widen. “Wait, but that means-”

“It sure does.” Mr. Schue caps his marker. “Artie, we need you to rap.”

Their MC grins and Rachel doesn’t know if she’s ever seen a smile so winning and so terrifying at the same time.

“Well, it’s about damn time.”

***

Artemis Abrams was born for this moment.

As the September wind whips through her hair and she pushes her chair to the center of the McKinley courtyard, her breathing and enunciation as on point as they’ve ever been and Rachel and Mercedes leading a nine-person hype train behind her, she thinks she’s never felt more alive.

_“...Hail Mary to the city, you’re a virgin_  
_And Jesus can’t save you_  
_Life starts when the church ends.”_

Most of the kids are paying them no mind. This isn’t like _Push It_ where they had a captive audience; Figgins made sure there was no repeat of that. But just because the crowd knows better than to stop and watch doesn’t mean it isn’t working.

She spots a girl with striking purple streaks in her hair over at the benches, dressed in way too much black considering it’s eighty degrees out. She’s nodding along with a faint smile, so Artie wheels over to give her a front-row seat, deploying her signature wink to try to communicate that she doesn’t bite.

_Came here for school, graduated to the highlife_  
_Ballplayers, rap stars, addicted to the limelight_  
_DubMHS got you feelin like a champion_  
_The city never sleeps, better slip you an Ambien_  
_(IN NEW YORK)”_

As her teammates carry the chorus, they regroup near the front steps. It’s been a while, and as a group, they’re certainly out of practice even when it comes to their rudimentary choreography, but she’s glad to see that a fair amount of muscle memory is kicking in as they swap places and make swaying back and forth look surprisingly exhilarating.

And as Mercedes and Santana knock the bridge out of the park on the way to the final chorus, she can’t help but scan the crowd for those purple highlights. When she finds them, she’s pleasantly surprised to find the girl on her feet, dancing just a little to the groove.

_“Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,_  
_there’s nothing we can’t do,_  
_Now you’re in New York_  
_(YOU’RE IN NEW YORK!)”_

Rachel’s voice soars over the melody, and dammit if it isn’t a sound for sore ears. Artie never thought she’d see the day when she realized she actually missed Rachel Berry, but the girl looks as happy as she’s ever seen her as she points toward the crowd - and seems to be smiling at someone specific. Apparently, Artie’s not the only one who’s got a potential recruit in her sights.

_“These streets will make you feel brand new_  
_The lights will inspire you_  
_Let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York_  
_(YEAH!)_  
_Ba ba ba, ba ba, ba ba ba.”_

As Artie helps Mercedes, Rachel, Lauren, and the Unholy Trinity bring the song to a close, she tries to find her mark in the crowd one more time, but she’s disappeared into the throng. Which is a shame, but something tells Artie she’ll be seeing her again soon.

“Girl, you killed that. I don’t know why we ever tried to stop you.” She’s jarred out of her thoughts and looks up to see Mercedes falling in beside her as they disperse, and her heart warms for the millionth time at how constant her best friend’s presence in her life has been.

“Thanks, babe.” She pulls out her hair tie now that she doesn’t need her face to be visible and lets the late summer wind whip through her hair. “Probably permanently killed my street cred by swapping out the MDMA reference to shoutout my own high school, but then censors have never bothered to make any sense.”

“Well if it makes you feel any better, you didn’t have any to lose in the first place.” Mercedes smirks. “I just hope we were tasteless enough to seem fun but not so much we scared all the closeted performers off.”

“Well, if I were putting money on it, I’d say we have at least two - me and Rachel both got a lock.”

“Maybe three, I saw Finn giving some kind of secret bro signal to some Beach Boy-looking kid on the breakdown.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I just hope it works out - I couldn’t resist making fun of Rachel, but part of me worries if she doesn’t have a point. I mean, both of us had our moments in the sun last year, but if things get crowded it’ll be that much more difficult. And who knows who’s even going to audition - what if we just end up with even more white girl diva nonsense? One Rachel Berry is bad enough; I don’t think my heart could take a second.”

The frustration in her voice is palpable, and Artie certainly empathizes - it’s always been a bit of a roll of the dice for both of them to hang out with anyone except each other, and as much as Artie’s tried to put herself out there and take some measured risks, she knows full well that the bigger this friend group grows, the greater chance they have of being burned.

And that’s why she knows what this is really about.

“Do you want to ask Kurt this time, or should I?”

Mercedes laughs. “Can’t see how it’ll be any different this time. He hasn’t had any time for us all summer, and now that the season’s started he’s gonna spend less time with Finn and Rachel?”

“We just need to tell him we miss him.” Artie reaches out to take her friend’s hand. “Just because he hasn’t been taking advantage of our open invitation to lose horribly to us at bowling doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about us. And besides, the alley has longer weekend hours now that the fall’s started, so it’ll probably fit into his schedule a lot better.”

“I never used to have to make an appointment.” Mercedes shakes her head. “Look, you’re right, I know I’m probably overreacting. And I want to be happy for him too, ‘cause Finn is a great guy and Rachel really is on his wavelength in a way no one else ever will be. It just sucks being replaced.”

The words feel like a boulder dropped onto Artie’s chest. And even though she has the horrible suspicion that they may end up being true - she loves Kurt, but she can’t deny he can get tunnel vision in his ambition just as bad as Rachel - she tries to push back.

“You’re not being replaced. It’s just a new dynamic. And I know you don’t get along with Rachel as well as I do, but beneath all the obnoxious affectation she’s as fiercely loyal as anyone I’ve ever met. When push comes to shove, she’ll have your back.”

Mercedes smiles, her eyes still tinged with sadness. “Yeah, it’s a nice thought. Maybe I’ll even believe it someday.”

As Artie wheels up the ramp at the entrance to the Auditorium, she calls back, “And even if I’m wrong, you’ll always have me.”

Mercedes laughs. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

***

When the girl walks into the bathroom, Rachel has only one thought.

_It can’t possibly be this easy._

When she spotted her amid the teeming masses, she was convinced that it must be a trick of the light, because there’s no way there was a student at this school even shorter than she was.

But every time Rachel had looked out to the crowd, the tell-tale sign of the girl’s beret had maneuvered its way forward until she was taking in the performance from the front row. And now here she is.

“Excuse me! I couldn’t help but notice you admiring me sing earlier, and I’d like to formally-”

The girl pulls out her earbuds. “I’m sorry, what?”

So much for her carefully planned recruiting pitch. Rachel figures she’ll just cut to the chase.  
“The Glee Club is having Auditions this Friday, right after school. You should try out; we could really use some new blood.”

The girl lights up in a smile, and maybe this will be easier than Rachel thought. “Oh yeah, I was wondering about that, you guys looked great out there. Thanks so much!”

And with that, Rachel’s job is done. Apparently, it really can be that simple.

As she finishes smoothing out the poster on the wall though, the faint strains of a pulsating beat start echoing through the bathroom, and suddenly the girl is singing along.

_“Hello, hello baby you called I can’t hear a thing_  
_I have got no service in the club you say say_  
_Wha-wha-what did you say are you breakin’ up on me?_  
_Sorry I can not hear you I’m kind of busy.”_

Rachel flashes back to last year when she heard Finn singing _Can’t Fight This Feeling_ in the Titans' locker room, and she knows immediately that this is the one. The girl’s voice is beautiful - not as polished as hers, of course, but vibrant in its own right, the kind of voice that could combine with Rachel and Mercedes to form that very wall of sound Mr. Schue was talking about.

She grins. Maybe she can have a little fun with this, and give the rookie a taste for what she’s in for. _“K-Kind of busy.”_

The girl frowns but doesn’t miss a beat. _“K-kind of busy.”_

_“Sorry I cannot hear you, I'm kind of busy.”_

They’ve turned to face each other now, to Rachel’s immense satisfaction. Now it’s a proper diva-off.

_“Stop calling, stop calling_  
_I don’t want to talk anymore_  
_I left my head and my heart on the dance floor.”_

They’re nose to nose as the chorus repeats, the smaller girl’s eyes wide with what Rachel is pretty sure is exhilaration - it would be impossible to not be awestruck by how good they sound together.

_“Stop calling, stop calling_  
_I don’t want to talk anymore_  
_I left my head and my heart on the dance floor.”_  
_“Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh_  
_Stop telephoning me-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-”_

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up.”

The slamming of a stall door and the emergence of a thoroughly irritated-looking senior works quite effectively - Rachel’s pretty sure it’s the first time she’s ever stopped midway through a song without losing her voice first.

As their unwilling audience storms out, Rachel risks a glance toward her new rival, who now just looks utterly baffled. Okay, maybe that was all a bit much. But her teammates are counting on her; she can’t let them down by missing a golden opportunity to secure such an incredible talent. As much as she’s terrified of getting another knife in the back, she forces her apprehension down and holds out her hand.

“I’m Rachel Berry, captain of the New Directions. And while we do have to stick to formal procedure, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about making the cut. Welcome to the team, and we’ll see you at the audition!”

She receives a bizarrely tepid handshake in response, but she chalks it up to nervousness.

“Sunshine Corazon. That was…”

“Magical?”

“Kinda weird.”

Rachel laughs. Sunshine isn’t wrong, but that’s what's so great about Glee. She’s sure the magic of spontaneity will grow on her in time. “Yeah, you get used to it. Oh, I can’t wait until we get to sing together for real, Jesse St. James won’t stand a chance!”

“Who’s - you know what, never mind.” Sunshine puts her earbuds back in. “See you around, I guess.”

“See you!”

And with that, Sunshine Corazon disappears, leaving Rachel alone in the bathroom where she takes a deep breath and smiles at herself in the mirror.

The year couldn’t be off to a better start.

***

Finn is off.

He knows he’s off from the first rep, when the ball sails high over the prospective wideout’s head, even before Shannon chastises him with a gruff, “Get it together, Hudson.”

There’s nothing wrong with his mechanics, as far as he can tell - he’s hitting his marks in the drop, his hips are opening toward the target, and he’s driving through with the back leg. But the ball just won’t go where he needs it to.

Which is a problem, because the new kid who wants to be quarterback is freakishly good.

“That’s it, Evans! Way to throw your man open.”

“Thanks, Coach!” Sam Evans turns around after drilling yet another spiral right to his receiver’s back shoulder and grins up at Finn, his helmet fitting awkwardly over that mop of distractingly blond hair. “Dude, so I’ve never really auditioned for anything before - what kind of song should I sing?”

Finn tries not to scowl as they trade places in line and Finn picks up the ball. Figures that the one guy he managed to spot in the crowd who actually vibed to their showcase performance would then immediately step on the football field to try to take his other job. At least he didn’t misjudge the kid’s enthusiasm, but he didn’t really expect him to be this… forward.

“I don’t know man, it doesn’t really matter. My scene is classic rock, but we’ve got a couple Broadway nerds, some hip hop and R&B kids, and our ex-cheerleaders know songs that were big when my grandparents were teenagers. Just do whatever comes natural.”

The other freshman going through the quarterback drill throws a duck that lands about ten yards short. Finn glances over at Puck, who’s set up as his next receiver. At least this throw will be easy.

And sure enough, Puck torches the corner on the deep post, and when Finn lets it fly, he knows it’s perfect this time.

Except for the fact that the ball lands in the hands of the freshman free safety, who screams over from nowhere and intercepts the pass like he’s playing centerfield.

“NOW THAT’S HOW YOU PLAY COVER ONE!” Shannon slaps her bullhorn triumphantly. “You keep that up, Chang, and you’ll be a day one starter.”

“Bro, are you doing ok?” Puck mutters as he jogs back to the huddle. “You can make that read in your sleep; what’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on.” Finn tries to keep his frustration in check, but this is starting to get out of control.

Puck puts a hand on his shoulder pad. “Seriously dude, if it’s something I did you gotta tell me, I know we both kind of did our own thing this summer but I thought we were still fine.”

Finn hastily shrugs him off. “Bro, it’s not you, I promise.” He doesn’t say “it’s me” but he knows he might as well have.

Sam hits another pass into a tight window, and when Finn steps back up and throws a fade to where his target never ran, Coach halts practice with an ominous blast of her whistle.

“Hudson!”

He swallows nervously - he hasn’t felt this sick since Babygate. “Yes, Coach!”

“Do you even know the names of any of your receivers besides Puckerman?”

He looks at the jersey he was ostensibly supposed to be throwing to and tries to make out the number - _is that an 80 or an 88?_ “Sure I do - sorry, uh, Josh?”

“Dude, my name is Hank.”

“Alright, I’ve seen enough.” Coach shakes her head. “It’s your huddle, Evans.”

The worst-case scenario drops into Finn’s stomach like a ton of bricks. “You’re not - you can’t - you’re benching me? Coach, I’m just having an off day - you know I can play!”

“I know you could play last year. But Bill Belichick never won any championships by rewarding past performance. Evans is outplaying you, and until I see you get it together I can’t afford to not use that kind of talent.”

“Coach, come on.” Puck jogs over and takes off his helmet. “We were one bounce away from a championship, and you’re gonna throw the locker room into chaos over one practice? Finn’s our quarterback - no offense, Jesse McCartney.”

“Yeah, Coach, I’m perfectly happy to carry a clipboard while I’m learning the offense-”

“Enough.” Shannon puts a warning into her voice, and Finn knows it’s over. “I call it like I see it. When Evans shows me he can’t win games for this team and you show me that you can hit the broad side of a barn, then you go back in.”

The worst part is, Finn knows the football logic checks out. Sam’s got a stronger arm than he does, and he knows if he goes out there without fixing whatever it is that’s throwing him off the Titans will be right back to where they were before Kurt jump-started them last season - total losers.

Still, he can’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be happening if not for -

“Tell me this isn’t about Glee.”

Shannon wheels to face him. “Don’t test me, son. I can do a lot worse than just bench you.”

“I know you hate that I’m still doing both. And I know you blame Kurt for losing the championship, even though every single guy on this team could have made a play that would have won it for us before he had to. But we’re fraying at the seams enough already - if I lose the locker room, things will get worse for all of us, and that’s bigger than football.”

Shannon shakes her head. “I’m not God, Hudson. I can’t control the butterfly effect. But you’ve lost a step, and I need to see you get it back - I don’t care how many songs you sing on your own time; hell, if Evans wants to join you I’m not gonna stop him, but my job is to do what’s best for the team. And right now that means you’re not the quarterback.” She raises her bullhorn to speak to the entire team. “DISMISSED.”

As they trudge off the field, Finn slowly realizing just how much of a hole he’s gotten himself into, Sam bounds up alongside him like nothing’s happened.

“So like, if I did a country song-”

Finn almost spits out his Gatorade mid-sip. “Oh, god no, anything but that.” Sam stares at him and actually looks hurt, so he tries to push through his tangled mess of emotions and soften the blow. “I mean, Glee won’t make you popular, literally the opposite, but you’ve got to try to preserve your dignity at least a little. Just pick a random song they won’t stop playing on whatever radio station the bus driver forces you to listen to. As long as it’s in your range.”

He doesn’t mention that the song Rachel overheard him singing in the shower so long ago was “in his range” by only the most generous of definitions. Better the new kid is safe than sorry.

“Alright, yeah, I can probably do that.” Sam takes his pads off as they file into the locker room. and Finn is immediately struck by just how ripped the kid is; he could just have easily tried out for linebacker. “Probably for the best - all my favorite songs just make me think of my ex-boyfriend now, and that baggage needs to stay behind in Kentucky.”

Finn whips around to see if anyone else is listening, but fortunately, his teammates are all preoccupied with their own conversations, except for one. He meets Karofsky’s eye, but just gets a solemn nod in response - he doesn’t know what to make of his reclusive left guard, but he’s pretty sure he can trust him.

Sam frowns, noticing Finn and Puck’s consternation. “Wait, aren’t you guys friends with the gay kicker? What’s the problem?”

“Dude, what the hell, do you have a death wish?” Puck whispers. “You can’t just be so nonchalant about it; we’re spread too thin to protect you if you go and paint a target on your back on the first day.”

“Oh,” Sam laughs. “Thanks, but I can take care of myself - I’ve been out for years.” He reads their incredulous expressions and elaborates. “I come from Southern Appalachia, and down there the bullies thrive off the assumption that it’s this unspeakable source of shame. So when I started just being open about it, they didn’t know how to react.”

Puck looks unconvinced. “And that actually worked?”

Sam shrugs. “Bought me enough time to make it clear they couldn’t hit me. I’m not saying it’s a perfect strategy, but I am who I am at this point. Hiding it would just be a waste of time.”

“That’s such bullshit.” Sam looks startled at the venom in Puck’s voice, but Puck isn’t done. “Kurt is out because he doesn’t have a choice, but you could stay out of trouble as long as you want, and you’re just throwing that away? For what?”

Sam looks at Finn, then back to Puck. “I mean, so I could date a guy at some point?”

Puck scowls. “Yeah, good luck with that around here, Prince Charming.”

As Puck storms off, Sam looks at Finn again. “What’s his problem?”

Finn fights off the dull ache in his chest that keeps getting worse by the minute. “It’s nothing personal. We’ve just... been through a lot in the last year. It was hard enough getting the guys to rally around Kurt, and we don’t know if that truce is gonna hold this year.” He doesn’t mention how Kurt went straight from practice to his dad’s car to avoid having to shower around the recruits. No need to freak Sam out too much.

“I mean, fair enough. I’m just saying,” Sam grabs a towel and heads towards the showers, “it kind of feels personal.”

As Sam disappears behind the curtain and the sound of a truly impressive _Every Rose Has It’s Thorn _begins filling the locker room, Finn collapses onto a bench by himself and tries to regain his bearings.__

____

____

This is going to be a long year.

***

A year ago, Tina Cohen would have been a stuttering mess to be in a room alone with Mike Chang.

Fortunately, some crushes are easy to get over.

As they wait for the blonde kid that Mike recognized from football tryouts to finish up his rendition of _Billionaire,_ backed up by the pretty blonde rapper chick who still seems like she has a little too much fun, she tries to think of a way to break the ice.

Fortunately, Mike beats her to it.

“I didn’t take you for a theater kid.” Without his pads on, Mike looks like the furthest thing from a football player despite his considerable height, and she’s surprised by how the confidence he carries himself with from a distance seems to dissipate up close.

“I’m not.” She doesn’t explain further. This is too weird.

“Then why are you here?”

“I could ask the same thing of you.” It comes out harsher than she means it too, so she tries to correct herself. “I mean, I don’t doubt you’re smashing heads with the Titans, or whatever it is that you guys do on a football field. But I never pegged you as a guy who could sing.”

“I can’t.”

Tina laughs. “Well, we’ll certainly make quite the odd couple.”

“Yeah, two of the only East Asians in Lima joining a Glee Club together. What could possibly go wrong?”

The director, Mr. Schuester, finally pokes his head backstage. “Alright, next we have, uh, Tina Cohen-Chang?”

Tina wasn’t going to say anything, because she’s numb to stuff like this at this point, but Mike clears his throat. “Uh, Mr. Schuester? I think you got two different lines crossed up. My last name is Chang, hers is Cohen. I’m Chinese, she’s Korean.”

Schuester looks at the list again. “Oh, god, you’re right. My apologies. Mike Chang, you’re up.”

She gives Mike an awkward nod of encouragement as he makes his way onstage - she’s never had anyone stick up for her like that, and she doesn’t really know how to feel about it.

Even from backstage, the sound of Mike introducing himself reaches her easily. “Hi, I’m Mike Chang, and, uh, the flyer said you were looking for dancers, so I’ll be auditioning with _Make em’ Laugh_ from Singin in the Rain.”

Tina hears the music start up - some weird comedy song from a movie she’s never seen - and she can’t resist her curiosity as she sneaks into the wings to watch.

What follows is the most incredible three minutes she’s ever witnessed. She always knew Mike was athletic - that was obvious just from looking at his abs, which she’d been guilty of more than a few times in more embarrassing days - but she was totally unprepared for how graceful he is as he leaps across the stage with perfect comic timing, hurling his body into the air and onto the ground with simultaneous reckless abandon and impeccable control.

And when it ends, he’s barely broken a sweat. The judges give him a standing ovation, and Mr. Schuester claps him on the back as he shouts “Welcome to the Glee Club!”

As Mike makes his way back toward her and Mr. Schuester calls her name - correctly, this time -  
all of the justifications she had built up in her head while watching the Glee Club’s courtyard performance about how maybe the auditioning wouldn’t be such a bad idea suddenly seem paper-thin. There’s no way she can live up to that.

But then Mike puts a hand on her shoulder, and it steadies her more than it probably should. “Hey, you got this. Break a leg, or whatever it is you’re supposed to say.”

“Thanks, Mike. And you were amazing, by the way.” She says it a little too quickly, but she figures she has every right to be nervous. As Mike sits back down, Tina blows out a breath. “Let’s do this.”

When she walks out onto the stage, it doesn't get any easier to relax. Sitting across from her in the front row of the auditorium is what she assumes must be Rachel Berry, given that the name was plastered across all of the club’s promotional posters. She’s flanked by the guy Tina is pretty sure is the quarterback of the football team, and another boy who is both wearing a scarf indoors and sporting just about the loudest floral pattern shirt she’s ever seen. The rapper has her wheelchair parked in the aisle and gives her another encouraging wink that manages to calm her nerves a bit, but it still takes considerable effort to hold herself in place.

“Hi, my name is Tina-” she fights back the nausea rising in her chest and restarts. “ My name is Tina Cohen. And I’ll be singing _True Colors_ by Cyndi Lauper.”

The one whose shirt hurts to look at smiles approvingly. “Excellent choice, Tina. Take it away.”

It gives her a much-needed shot of confidence as she hands the piano player her sheet music. Her first instinct was to go with Katy Perry’s _I Kissed A Girl,_ but the club’s performance of _Empire State of Mind_ indicated that an edgy, pseudo-provocative Top 40 cover probably wouldn’t do much to distinguish her. Besides, much as she loves her gothic sense of fashion enough to endure all the snickering behind her back it gets her, if she’s actually auditioning for the Glee Club she needs to get comfortable with performative earnestness. Because for better or worse, there doesn’t seem to be anything ironic about show choir.

Plus, seeing a buttoned-up athlete like Mike look happier than she’s ever seen anyone while making himself look absolutely ridiculous has her thinking that maybe Cyndi Lauper was onto something.

_You with the sad eyes, don’t be discouraged_  
_Oh I realize, it’s hard to take courage_  
_In a world full of people, you can lose sight of it all_  
_And darkness still inside you make you feel so small_

_But I see your true colors shining through_  
_True colors, and that’s why I love you”_

As Tina takes a breath, she risks a glance at the auditioners. The quarterback is nodding along, the fashion disaster is beaming, but Rachel Berry is staring at her with an uncomfortable intensity that’s utterly indecipherable.

It almost breaks her concentration, but somehow she manages to pull it back. She decided to bet on her voice, and now she has to trust herself to pay it off.

_“So don’t be afraid to let them show_  
_Your true colors, true colors_  
_Your true colors_  
_Are beautiful like a rainbow.”_

“Fantastic!” The knot in her stomach instantly dissolves as scarf-boy gives her a standing ovation, and the quarterback seems pretty moved as well. It’s only Rachel that remains unreadable, and for what feels like an eternity Tina stands awkwardly on the stage, unsure of whether to head off or not. Finally, the captain breaks her silence.

“You were pitchy. Your transitions were sloppy. And try to spend more time on your breathing in rehearsal - you lost a lot of power to inefficient technique.”

And just like that, all the insecurities that she had managed to forget for those few fleeting moments come crashing back. Apparently, this was a stupid idea after all.

“S-sorry. Thanks for letting me try out.” She turns around and tries to get off stage as quickly as possible; she’s never been so humiliated by something she didn’t even think she cared all that much about.

“Wait.” She turns around to see Rachel shaking her head. “I should be thanking you - you’re going to be a great addition to the New Directions.”

Okay - that wasn’t the whiplash she was expecting.

“But you just-”

“I nitpick the details, it’s kind of what I do.” Rachel smiles. “But I would never do that for someone who wasn’t worth it. And I can hear something special in you, Tina. I can’t promise you anything, but I think you’re gonna be a real star for us one day.”

In spite of herself, she finds herself smiling. It’s not the kind of attention she’s used to, but she thinks she prefers it to invisibility. “Thanks, Rachel. Looking forward to it.”

And when she heads backstage, with Mike looking at her as if he’s seeing her for the first time, she thinks she might not even be lying.

***

“Alright, that looks like it’s everyone.” Mr. Schue emerges from backstage, holding a clipboard and looking even more pleased with himself than usual. “I know it’s not a lot of bodies, but between the three of them it’s a lot of talent, and every little bit helps.”

“Kurt, I’m parked out back, so we can head out whenever you’re ready.” Finn stands up and hoists his backpack onto his shoulders. “And Rachel, if you still need a ride, I can clear our football stuff out of the backseat.”

Rachel nods absentmindedly, still finishing up her notes on the auditioners: _“find songs for Brike dance duets”, “take Tina shopping somewhere other than Hot Topic”,_ and _“warn Sam about Santana’s sense of humor.”_

“Actually Kurt,” Artie pipes up somewhat hesitantly, “if you want, Mercedes was gonna give me a ride to the alley, and we wanted to ask if you would come too. It’s kinda been a while.”

Rachel can feel the guilt radiating off of Kurt without even looking up, or maybe that’s just her own guilt - she has kind of stolen him away from his old friends a little bit. They lock eyes, and she gives him a nod of encouragement.

“That sounds great Artie. Just give me a sec to wrap things up here, and I’ll meet you at the car.”

Artie grins. “Sweet.”

But as soon as she rolls out the door, Rachel suddenly realizes what’s wrong. “Wait, this can’t be right.” Rachel looks around the auditorium, but it’s empty except for the four of them. “There’s still one more. Sunshine Corazon.”

Mr. Schue frowns. “Well, there’s no one here and her name’s not on the list, so I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Maybe she got cold feet?” Finn speculates. “I know Sam was really eager to jump on the bandwagon, but it’s still pretty scary to put yourself out there.”

Rachel shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand, Sunshine was my recruit. We had a connection, she can’t have possibly backed out.”

“Oh, I auditioned. I just didn’t choose you.”

Rachel whirls around in her seat, trying to keep her heart from leaping out of her chest. She doesn’t take well to auditorium surprises anymore, but fortunately Sunshine appears to be alone if the single diminutive silhouette is any indication.

“Sunshine? What are you-” she sputters to a halt when she finally processes what she’s seeing.

Sunshine is lounging against the back wall, looking almost bored. It’s a total shift in demeanor from her earlier nervousness, but what really draws Rachel’s eyes is the outfit.

Specifically, the black tank top and electric blue skirt - the signature uniform of Vocal Adrenaline.

_Not again._

Sunshine gives her a wry smile. “Just wanted to say goodbye. You were so excited about me joining your Glee Club and well, I did feel kind of bad about taking the other offer, so I wanted to tell you myself.”

“So I take it you’ve met Jesse St. James?” Rachel doesn’t bother to hide the anger in her voice. She can recognize a Vocal Adrenaline power play a mile away - she knows she’s speaking to an enemy.

Still, she can’t sit by and let someone else fall into Jesse’s trap without a fight.

“You can’t trust him, Sunshine.” She takes a few tentative steps forward, but Sunshine continues to look nonplussed. “Jesse St. James doesn’t care about anyone but himself, and Vocal Adrenaline are a bunch of soulless automatons - they don’t love music, they just love winning. We would have been a family to you.”

Sunshine laughs. “I mean, to be honest Rachel, that’s why I’m transferring. I’m not really looking for some kind of sacred blood oath with my high school show choir, I just want to sing and have fun and maybe get a nice trophy for my shelf and my resume. And Jesse promised me that Vocal Adrenaline have a strict policy against suddenly bursting into song outside of rehearsal, which was a very big selling point.” She shrugs. “It’s nothing personal - that’s why I wanted to thank you for encouraging me to do this.”

“Ms. Corazon, if I may.” Kurt hasn’t gotten up, but he leans forward against the back of his seat. “As much as I think your commitment to passive-aggressive faux-graciousness shows a tremendous potential for showbiz, I do think you’re making a mistake. Vocal Adrenaline will turn you into just another cog in the show choir machine, but if you commit to McKinley, you’ll have a real chance to stand out. And that matters more for your long term prospects than the results of any competition.”

Next to him, Finn nods enthusiastically. "Totally - everybody loves a good underdog story, but nobody roots for the undefeated team. Why would you sell out and join the reigning champs when you have a chance to beat them?”

“And become a national show choir legend in the process!” Rachel finishes, her spirits starting to pick up. She knows she can be hard to deal with, but with her co-captains baking her up she knows they’ll be able to convince her.

But Sunshine just shakes her head with a look of utter incredulity on her face. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not in this for the drama, or the long game, or being part of something special or any of that. I’m just trying to get high school over with so I get to the part of my life that actually matters. Jesse understands that, which is apparently more than any of you can manage.” She checks her watch and sighs. “Anyway, I should get back. Practice starts in fifteen. I really am sorry for getting your hopes up, Rachel. Maybe you can sing a sad song about it or something.”

And then she’s gone, leaving Rachel to contemplate the depths of her failure, feeling like she’d rather do anything else than sing.

***

Kurt thought he was used to it.

Used to name-calling, used to the dirty looks from strangers and teammates alike, used to the snickering behind his back and the sharp shoulders shoving him into lockers.

But something about holding the shredded remains of the letterman jacket he used to think of as his suit of armor is a bigger punch to the throat than he’s ever gotten before.

He knew it was reckless of him to wander the halls alone, but he was halfway to Mercedes’ car when he realized he had forgotten his chemistry book, and with Finn and Rachel already at the other end of the parking lot, there was no one to insist that he have an escort.

So when he ran into a hoard of freshman football recruits high off joining a new clique, the frat bros on the hockey team, and a couple of guys who had never hit the gym in their lives but were eager to feel like real men, there was no help to be had. And when it was over, the one thing that had made him feel genuine pride in being a football player had been torn in half like so much paper mache.

Apparently the stitching was incredibly stodgy.

As he cradles his coffee in a dimly lit corner of the Lima Bean - he could have just gone home, but that would have meant explaining himself to his dad and, even worse, to Finn - he stares down at his unanswered text to Mercedes and Artie.

_So sorry, something came up and I can’t make it tonight. Have fun xo_

He knows he should have stuck it out, or at least should have told them what happened. They’ve been better friends to him than he could ever ask for, but that’s exactly why he needs to be alone right now. After ghosting them all summer and being stupid enough to let his guard down, the last thing he deserves is comfort.

“Never seen you in here alone before.”

His blood freezes as he processes that the voice he doesn’t recognize was directed at him. He’s never actually had anyone come onto him, and he has no idea what to do.

“Look, I appreciate how brave you’re being, but I’m really not looking for anything right now.” He keeps his voice flat and his gaze fixed on the far wall and just prays that whoever this is will take the hint and leave him alone.

“Pfft. Don’t flatter yourself.” The casual contempt makes him look up to where the stranger has slid into the seat next to him, and his eyes are immediately drawn to the expensive-looking blazer and its customized emblem, the kind of outfit that screams _I go to private school and have no personality._ “There is an underground gay scene in Western Ohio, but it doesn’t meet at the fucking Lima Bean. And it’s masc for masc, so I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

Kurt knows he should just let it go, but between the Sunshine debacle and the mob of gay-bashers he’s at the end of his rope, and he really doesn’t have the patience for this. He gives the kid a quick once-over. “Ok, first of all, the only difference between you and me is that I didn’t try to model my masculinity off of the guy in every horror movie who dies after the sex scene.”

The boy just raises an eyebrow; he looks almost impressed that Kurt’s fighting back.

“And second, if you’re not hitting on me then why are talking to me at all? Don’t you have a regatta to get to or something?”

“Lacrosse practice, actually.”

Kurt scoffs. Typical of a bitchy gay private school brat to hang his jock cred on a sport that would get him eaten alive at McKinley. Which, thankfully, he doesn’t say out loud, because he really needs to cut his losses and get out of here.

Unfortunately, the boy is still talking. “I’ve seen you here before with Andre the Giant and the diva who looks like she’s wearing a Straight Catholic Girl Halloween costume from Party City. And since you guys have gotten so much offseason hype on the show choir blogs and we’ve just been gerrymandered into your Section, I figured I would introduce you to your new competition.”

“The Dalton Academy Warblers.” Kurt should have known - he’s never seen them in action before, but they’re infamous for their supposedly quite good acapella arrangements and their utter insufferability. He tries to rack his brain to remember The Glee Project’s scouting report. “I suppose you’re the hotshot new captain - Blaine something? I see the blogs weren’t exaggerating about the hair gel.”

“Oh, on the contrary,” Not-Blaine laughs, “the Warblers would never deign to send their Captain for this kind of grunt work. No, I imagine you’ll meet Blaine when we’re crushing you at Sectionals and no sooner. But the Council needed boots on the ground, and as the new blood, I was first in line. Long drive, but my parents are big poverty tourists, so I’m more than used to it.”

Kurt’s blood is boiling - he’s never met a teenager this colossally arrogant before, not even early-days Rachel Berry - but in a strange way, it’s almost comforting. At the very least, he’ll take irrational rage over the sheer emptiness he was feeling earlier. He finally turns to stare down Not-Blaine.

“Look, this whole intimidation schtick may work on some quivering freshman, but we went head to head with Vocal Adrenaline last year, and you were nowhere to be seen at Regionals. And I just had a particularly nasty run-in with the kind of people who would throw both of us to the wolves without a second thought, so excuse me if an insecure baby gay who needs to punch down within his own community to feel better about his empty privileged life doesn’t have me quaking in my character shoes.”

Not-Blaine laughs again, and Kurt honestly wonders if this won’t be the day he finally punches someone in the face. “I mean, if it’s that bad I would tell you to go back in the closet or just transfer to Dalton, but I’d imagine neither of those is an option for you. So if you’re looking for advice, just try to keep your head down as much as possible, because I’d hate for something as mundane as straight people to get in the way of our little dance.”

Kurt tries to respond, but the boy is so shockingly cavalier in his cynicism that he can’t find the words. And even if he did, he probably couldn’t get them in edgewise.

“And as for Vocal Adrenaline, they’re a fad. They’re a circus with a smoke machine and a laser light show, and Jesse St. James is just an overrated vibrato in a skin suit. It was a smart gimmick, but it was already stale last year, and the fact that you couldn’t beat them with Rachel Berry _and _Mercedes Jones on your team because your male lead can’t handle a kickball change is more humiliating than our Council infighting-induced loss to Aural Intensity will ever be.” He leans forward, getting close enough that Kurt can smell the aftershave.__

____

____

“But I’m sure if you sing one line per competition that will surely put your team over the top. So good luck this year, Kurt. And I’m sorry in advance that your season will be so much shorter than last year.”

With that, he turns around and moves to leave, apparently satisfied.

For some reason, Kurt can’t let that happen.

“Wait. You know who I am, but I have no idea who you are. Care to give me a name?”

Not-Blaine stops in the doorway and smiles as if he’s just accepted a challenge.

“My name is Sebastian Smythe.”


	2. Britney/Brittany

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's what you missed on Glee: McKinley's Glee Club is back for its second year and along with its returning members, it's managed to pick up a few new recruits! Rachel and Quinn are kinda friends now, which is super weird for Santana and Brittany but Finn and Puck still have a long way to go. Especially because Finn lost his quarterback position to one of the new recruits, Sam Evans. Vocal Adrenaline also picked up some new recruits, particularly one Sunshine Corazon. Who Rachel scared away from joining the New Directions. She's trying not to worry about it too much though. Oh, and Kurt met a member of the Dalton Academy Warblers, although he wishes he didn't.
> 
> And that's what you missed, on Glee!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick heads-up, we're taking this project a little less seriously but we have no intention of stopping any time soon. Apologies for the long wait, but here's chapter two! Britney/Brittany, aka "Ryan Murphy please stop making tribute episodes, the plots never make sense".
> 
> Chapter written by - Cecelia / TheRealRyanMurphy

Brittany Susan Pierce doesn’t know what to make of Rachel Barbra Berry.

Which is a problem, because it’s starting to look like the girl is going to be a part of her life for the foreseeable future.

“All I’m saying is that it’s a bit narrow-minded of you to say that _Wicked_ is a bad show before you’ve even seen it.”

“Sure it is, just like it’s narrow-minded to assume that stuffing a sock in your mouth would be viscerally satisfying even though I haven’t had the pleasure of actually doing it yet. Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“Now, now, Santana, no need for that.” Quinn barely looks up from her calculus homework, but the slight frown on her face is genuine. Everything about her is more genuine these days, now that the Unholy Trinity has an unofficial fourth member.

Rachel’s smile is so bright it hurts to look at it. “Thanks, Q. Knew I could count on you.”

Santana looks at Brittany with an expression of exaggerated disgust. It’s really adorable, especially since Brittany can tell that Santana actually kind of likes Rachel, even if she’ll never admit it.

“First of all, pass me a wastebasket, I’m gonna barf. And second, don’t try to front Quinn. I know Lady Hummel’s attempts to turn you into a theater kid have gone about as well as Britt trying to teach Finn how to dance.”

“That’s absurd. Just because it isn’t to my taste doesn’t mean I don’t recognize how Hugh Panaro elevates the material.” Quinn puts her pencil down at the sound of Santana’s laughter. “What?”

“Quinn,” Rachel almost whines. “This is _Wicked._ We stopped talking about _Phantom_ twenty minutes ago.”

“Under very graphic threat of physical violence,” Santana adds.

“Oh.” Quinn shrugs apologetically. “Sorry, darling.” She steadfastly ignores Santana’s glare and tosses her papers into a bag.

“Let’s get to choir practice shall we?”

Rachel visibly deflates, which is her big mistake. Once Santana smells blood in the water, it’s over.

“Oh, chin up, Berry. You’re never actually going to be one of us, but if you get off so much on ‘Q’ white knighting for you then I’m just as happy to get off on making your life absolutely miserable.”

Rachel’s jaw falls open. “That’s not- I don’t- “ Quinn’s hand falls gently onto her shoulder and she immediately falls silent. They seem to have a conversation with only their eyes - they’ve mastered that art frighteningly quickly - and the sadness lifts from Rachel’s face.

Quinn looks up with palpable relief. “Let’s go, girls.”

They fall into their familiar routine - Rachel and Quinn try and fail to walk in a straight line and keep “accidentally” brushing against each other on the way down the hall, with Brittany and Santana keeping a dignified pace behind them, linked only by two pinkies.

They settled on that after a long and difficult summer of negotiation. Santana was getting nervous that hand-holding in public would draw too many questions, so Brittany had come up with the compromise. It was easier to pass off as a quirk of friendship, and it meant Brittany still got to be connected with her best friend.

Of course, it would be better if Santana would just kiss her in public again, but she knows she can’t rush things.

Apparently, though, Mr. Schuester has no such considerations, because when they walk into the choir room and see what’s on the board, she freezes in her tracks.

“No.”

Rachel frowns. “You don’t like Britney Spears?”

Santana shoots her a dirty look. “Just because you have a creepy reincarnation complex with your celebrity namesake doesn’t mean the rest of us have to worship ours. Case in point: Carlos Santana sucks.”

Brittany sighs. It’s taken her a while to figure out how to explain basic concepts to people who can’t see past a single layer of reality, but she thinks she knows how to handle this one.

“Her music is the absolute worst of the pop-cultural cesspool that was the Total Request Live era. Her voice sounds like if you and Kurt were the same person. And she spells our name wrong. I don’t want to do Britney Spears.”

“Well, too bad.” Mr. Schue, once again, has all the sensitivity of a sandpaper facemask. “You all love to make fun of me for my love of classic rock - don’t think I don’t know what you snicker about behind my back - but I have to admit you have a point. Our Journey medley last year was world-class, but it was too dated. If we’re going to beat Vocal Adrenaline this year, we need to go full top 40.”

“Uh, Mr. Schue?” Mike Chang raises a tentative hand. “In preparation for this lesson, I watched your tape from Regionals on the show choir blogs that Rachel sent me. And from where I’m sitting, you lost because your choreography was basically standing in a line for a whole song and then walking forward at the end.”

Brittany makes eye contact with Mike and gives him a grateful nod. Finally, someone else who gets it.

“And that is why you’re here,” Mr. Schue points a marker at him. “And more to the point, that’s why Brittany’s assignment this week is going to be showing you what you’re in for. You can pick any song, as long as it’s Britney. And you can pick any partner.”

Well, that makes it easy. “Santana is the only one who can keep up with me. No offense, Quinn.”

“Oh, none taken,” Quinn barely looks up from where she’s doodling in her notebook. “You two were always the better athletes even before I got pregnant - my cheer trophies were won on pure charisma.”

“Well, I for one welcome the challenge of representing such a cultural icon. While I remain loyal to Barbra, Britney is one of the definitive artists of our generation, and I’m sure I can turn one of her songs into a viable solo for Sectionals.” It takes Rachel a few seconds to process the crushing silence that greets her in response. “What?”

Brittany tries to let her down as gently as possible. “Rachel, the only reason to do Britney Spears is sex appeal. And as someone who was in the audience last year for _Push It,_ you have about as much sex appeal as a baby penguin.”

“I-I could be sexy if I wanted to.”

“Oh yeah?” Santana, predictably, would rather drop her on her head. “Prove it. Do the Britney song that served as an entire generation’s sexual awakening, and if you don’t have the rest of the club rolling on the floor in peals of laughter, I will personally take you out to Breadstix and pay for those disgusting vegan meatballs. I won’t even wear a bag over my head.”

Quinn clears her throat. “Uh, I don’t think that’s a great idea-”

Rachel grins. “ _Toxic?_ You’re on.”

“No. Too easy. _Baby One More Time.”_

“Oh.” Rachel’s face falls, which only makes Santana’s grin widen proportionately.

“What’s the matter, scared to actually look hot in front of your ‘boyfriend’?”

“Shut up, Santana,” Finn and Quinn say at the same time.

“Rachel, you don’t have to do this. Don’t let her get under your skin.” Finn reaches down from the riser to grip her shoulder.

“Finn’s right.” Quinn takes her hand from her spot next to her. “Don’t get sucked into a battle on Santana’s turf, it’s not who you are.”

Something flashes in Rachel’s eyes that Brittany didn’t expect, and she wrenches herself away to cross to the front of the choir room. “Well, just being who I am got us a third-place finish at Regionals last year, so maybe it’s time for a new Rachel Berry. I accept your challenge, Santana.”

Brittany locks eyes with Quinn, and she doesn’t need to have finished the mind-reading machine she’s working on in the garage to know they’re both thinking the same thing.

_This won’t end well._

***

Santana is exhausted.

She’s been trying to get the choreography down for an hour, but no matter how many times she tries, it’s never enough.

A step out of place. Always arriving a beat too early or a beat too late. And she has to do it all without once stopping and staring at her best friend, who moves with the kind of effortless grace that makes Rachel Berry’s most impressive high notes look like a walk in the park.

“Alright, let’s take a break.” Brittany puts the cd player on pause.

“No… I’m good… let’s go again.” Santana gets out between heavy pants. “I’ve almost got it.”

Brittany frowns. “Honey, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

“Don’t-” Santana gets cut off by Brittany handing her a cool towel, which she gratefully presses to her forehead.

“I’m gonna get it,” Santana mutters. “I’m just a step slow because I’m out of shape from skipping Sue’s boot camp.”

Brittany shakes her head. “You’re a step slow because you’re trying to do the exact same choreography as me. It’s a duet- if you would just let me build your choreo around the Madonna part- “

“I”m not interested in revisiting Madonna Week, and I’m certainly not interested in wearing a suit.” Santana yanks a hairband around her ponytail in agitation. “I might as well introduce myself to the newbies by covering the Dixie Chicks.”

It’s a joke, because Santana can tell where this is going and she really doesn’t want it to, but the sadness in Brittany’s eyes makes her hate herself for it.

“Everyone loves Madonna - last year proved that. They’re just gonna think you’re an all-powerful, badass music goddess, which you are.”

She’s too tired to keep dancing around it. “Britt, it’s Madonna and Britney. They’re gonna think of the kiss at the VMAs.”

Brittany’s eyes harden. “What’s wrong with that? You kissed me at a performance once.”

Santana closes her eyes as the memory comes flooding back - the split-second decision, the awkward aftermath, the feeling like she had just done something unforgivable that would always be worth it.

The feeling of Brittany’s lips against hers, a single second stretched out to infinity, replayed in her mind over and over since then.

“And I told you that was a mistake.”

“And that there was a difference between that kiss that’s wrong and the way you’ve been kissing me all summer that isn’t. But I don’t understand why. And not like how I don’t understand the difference between quiche and pizza. Like, I think you’re wrong about it.”

Santana’s heart feels like it’s going to sink her straight into the floor. “Britt, we talked about this.”

“No, we didn’t.” Brittany shakes her head vigorously. “You keep talking about how we can’t talk about it, can’t tell anyone, can’t do anything about it. You’re my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t keep doing this if I’m just going to be a warm body for you. I deserve better than that.”

She’s right. Every word is absolutely right and Santana hates herself probably more than she ever has.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, I’ll-I’ll back off.”

Brittany sighs, sitting down next to Santana on the floor. Santana tenses, but Brittany doesn’t reach for her, for which Santana is silently grateful. “You don’t have to do that. We could go forward instead.”

Tears spring unbidden to Santana’s eyes. It’s just as well. Any chance to salvage her dignity when it came to Brittany went out the window a long time ago. “You know I want you to be happy, right?”

Brittany nods. “Of course I do.”

“And if this were a different world, or if I were a different person…”

If she wasn’t such a bitch. If Lima wasn’t such a prison. If Rachel Berry wasn’t hovering around them all the damn time.

She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t need to.

Brittany stares straight ahead, and Santana figures silence is the best she could ask for.

But then: “It’s not your fault. And you deserve better too.”

The words are so simple, but they cut so deep. Santana squeezes her eyes shut to keep the tears from flooding out, and wonders how on Earth anyone can stand to love if it hurts this much.

But her best friend is still there, still more patient than she’ll ever be able to understand. And Santana will be damned if she doesn’t at least try to salvage this.

“Alright, enough of this touchy-feely crap. This is Britney Week, not Alanis Morissette Week.” Her voice isn’t nearly steady enough to pull off the bravado, but she knows Brittany won’t call her out on it. She uses the strength in her core to spring off the floor without using her hands and takes some comfort in the way Brittnay’s eyes widen. “Teach me the damn Madonna part and let’s get this number down so that we can put the fear of God into your new dance partner.”

Brittany smiles, the sadness still lingering in her eyes but not quite so all-consuming. “All right. And seriously, don’t worry about making mistakes. I’ve got you.”

If only Santana could say the same.

***

“So… how do I look?” Rachel steps out of the bathroom into her room, and Quinn does a double-take.

Sure, it took a little finagling, but with Kurt’s reluctant help it hadn’t taken her long to secure a perfect recreation of Britney's most infamous outfit.

Quinn meets her eyes briefly, but then immediately turns to stare at the floor. Rachel frowns; Quinn isn’t usually so easily flustered.

“You look, uh-”

“So I left you speechless? I’m gonna assume that’s a good thing.” She laughs nervously, but Quinn still looks uncomfortable, so she cuts herself off. “What’s wrong?”

“So, please don’t take this the wrong way. Because I really do think you’re quite pretty, no matter what you’re wearing.”

“Wait, really?”

Quinn’s eyes flick up for just a second. “Yes, really.”

“So you’re telling me all those years when you were calling me-”

“Yes.” Quinn keeps her eyes on the floor. “It was shameful, and there’s nothing I regret more.”

Rachel tries to retort that she can’t mean that, given the whole pregnancy disaster, but this feels like she’s heading in a dangerous direction, so she swallows her words. “Well, I’ve certainly said plenty of things to you I wish I could take back.” She laughs. “Though it’s not like you would ever need me to tell you that you’re pretty.”

Now Quinn looks like she’s about to say something, but at the last second, she too seems to decide against it.

“So what’s the problem?”

“You remember last year when Kurt switched out his wardrobe to sing Mellencamp?”

Quinn doesn’t say anything else, because they both know exactly what that means.

“It’s really that bad?” Rachel hates the quiver in her voice.

Quinn shakes her head. “It’s not about that - I mean, Kurt’s outfit was fine too, it was just that he looked so uncomfortable. And right now, you look like you want to run out of the room and leave your skin behind.”

Rachel feels the heat rising in her face. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

“Yes, I do. Because I’ve been there before.” Quinn sighs. “You think that Cheerios uniform was easy for me to put on every day?”

“I mean, can you blame me if I did? You certainly didn’t have any problems lording it over the rest of us.”

“Yes, but the point still stands-”

“No, it doesn’t.” The words are tumbling out of her without her permission, and maybe she should have known this was coming. “I know that you’ve been through the kind of hell in the past year that I couldn’t even imagine, but you were the cheer captain, Quinn. No one was ever going to laugh you out of a room for showing yourself off.”

Quinn’s eyes flash with anger, and even as Rachel tries to tell herself that this isn’t anything new, she’s overwhelmed by the panicked thought that this feels so much worse than it ever did before.

“Rachel, I can’t expect you to understand, but if you honestly think I wouldn’t have taken your spot in the bleachers over being a pin-up doll for the Catholic Church and my miserable bastard of a father, I’ve got some shares in a Sue Sylvester shell corporation to sell you.”

“And I’ve been so happy to see you break out of that and start to find yourself - so why can’t you do the same for me?”

“Because Santana is baiting you and you’re falling for it hook line and sinker - this isn’t happening organically, and you obviously have no idea what you’re doing!”

Rachel swallows hard and wills her voice not to break. She won’t give Quinn the vindication of seeing her cry. “I think you should go.” It’s all she can get out; she doesn’t trust herself not to make it worse otherwise. She only prays the damage won’t be permanent.

Quinn’s face falls. “Yeah, probably.”

Rachel wants more than anything to take it back, but she knows she can’t. And in a weird way, she knows Quinn wouldn’t want her to.

But when Quinn closes the door behind her, she can’t hold it together anymore.

She’s cried over Quinn’s words more than once when they were enemies, but it’s never hurt as much as it does now that she knows what it’s like to have her standing by her side.

***

Artie Abrams is used to things not working out.

After all, she was the centerpiece of the New Directions’ horrifying rendition of _Sit Down You’re Rocking the Boat,_ back when it was just four losers who were hanging out with each other because no one else would

But now things have changed, and it’s starting to get more difficult to settle.

It started out as a joke like it always did - though in this case, it wasn’t her that made the first move. And sure, she could have done more to discourage Brittany from thinking that she was literally the goddess of the moon, but to have such a delightfully odd connection with someone was so nice that she couldn’t bear to let it go.

She knew better than to think she had a chance, of course, with the way Santana and Brittany had been inseparable all year, and she had done fairly well finding happiness for herself. But the love she found was fleeting, just like always - she would find someone, they would have a few good months, and then they would inevitably drift away. Maybe a little less, never much more.

So she was never going to be tied down, that much was clear, and the longer Brittany stayed officially single the harder it was for her to fight off the crush.

Which is what she’s finally had to admit it is. A pathetic, aching, incredibly _stupid_ crush.

“Um, Artemis? Is everything ok?” Tina the new recruit’s voice jars her out of her moodiness, which is a relief. Artie hates self-pity, and she really can’t afford to be indulging in it now.

“Couldn’t be better. And please, my friends call me Artie.” She waves her over to invite her in - the choir room is empty except for her, and she hasn’t been able to get any productive practice going anyway. “And I can already tell you’re gonna be a friend.”

Tina blushes as she makes her way over to the piano bench. “Thanks. I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Artie shakes her head. “Here’s the thing about Glee Club: you seem like a nice, reasonable, not completely insane person, and that automatically makes you one of our most valuable members.”

Tina laughs, and Artie’s relieved to notice it sounds much more relaxed. “Oh come on, it can’t be that bad.”

“Last year one of our team leaders got his pregnant girlfriend kicked out of her house by singing _(You’re) Having My Baby_ in front of her parents.”

Tina’s eyes widen. “I stand corrected.”

Artie laughs; she never realized breaking in the new recruits would be this much fun. “I don’t mean to scare you. As long as you stick with me and Mercedes, you’ll be fine.”

“Mercedes - is that the girl who can actually sing?”

“Ok, now I definitely know you’re one of the good ones.” Artie grins. “Yeah, that’s the one. And sometimes you’ll also be hanging out with Kurt Hummel, our old best friend from way back before any of this got started.”

Tina frowns. “Wait, why only sometimes with Kurt? If you’re his oldest friends…”

“Because he - wait a minute.” Artie reaches into her pocket and pulls out one of Mr. Schue’s perpetually missing markers. “Let me break it down for you.” She pushes her chair over the whiteboard, pushes her glasses up her nose, and puts on her best professorial affect.

“To navigate the social labyrinth that is the New Directions, you need to understand the Rule of Three, or Trinities, since so many of us prefer our metaphors to be religiously inflected.”

Tina stares at her blankly. “Um, I’m not sure I follow.”

“Patience, my young padawan.” Artie laughs at her own joke and uncaps the red marker, drawing three overlapping circles. “The Holy Trinity. Our team leaders, mostly because the rest of us have better things to do with our lives. The big one is Rachel Berry, who you’ve already had the misfortune to meet.”

“The girl who wears polka dots for some reason.”

“Just roll with it, she makes it work.”

Tina looks skeptical, but Artie continues.

“Now Rachel treats all of us like family, for better or worse, and hopefully she’ll extend that to you as well. But she and the boys are inseparable - Finn is her, well, he’s her person, and Kurt is her… ” She frowns. “Actually, I don’t even know what you’d begin to call that. Oh, and Finn and Kurt are kind of step-brothers, but don’t actually call them that to their faces because it’s still in the early stages.” As she talks, she tries to write these annotations as fast as possible without sacrificing legibility, which mostly involves a lot of arrows and question marks.

“Mercedes and I were Kurt’s friends before it was cool.” She knows she sounds bitter but she tries to push through it, which she does well enough by drawing another pair of circles connected to Kurt’s. “So we get what it’s like to not really know where you fit in. But ever since he got swept up in Rachel’s high-drama show choir politics, we’ve kind of been living in different worlds. We’re still friends, obviously, it’s just… more complicated than it used to be.”

“Complicated. Yeah, I get that.” Artie doesn’t ask what Tina means. She figures she’ll find out eventually.

She trades out the red marker for a blue and draws a second set of three concentric rings just below the first.

“Now, the other threesome to be aware of is the Unholy Trinity - but don’t worry, they got that name long before they ditched their cheerleading cred to hang out with us. Your friend Mike is gonna be working a lot with Britt - she’s our lead dancer and an absolute treasure, just don’t question anything that comes out of her mouth.”

“The one you have a crush on.” Tina’s giving Artie an uncomfortably piercing look, and this is getting out of hand way faster than Artie expected.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Artie keeps her eyes on the whiteboard and tries to keep her tone light. “And besides, inferring your teammates' romantic interests is a high-level skill - you’ve got to master breaking out into song in the middle of class first before we can teach you that.”

“Sorry, it’s none of my business.” Tina doesn’t look particularly sorry. “It’s just that you wouldn’t stop looking at her in rehearsal earlier and you just dotted the ‘i’ in her name with a heart. But I guess there’s any number of explanations for that.”

She says it with an utterly straight-faced delivery, and Artie takes a mental note to keep on her toes - apparently Tina Cohen is a bit more ruthless than she lets on.

 _“Anyway,”_ Artie continues, pressing the marker into the surface a bit harder, “Santana will probably be performatively hostile towards you at some point, which is how you’ll know you’re getting along well. And Quinn won’t even notice you’re in the room unless Rachel isn’t,” she draws a two-way arrow connecting the central red and blue circles, “and trust me, it won’t be personal.”

“What about the other two? The other football player and the wrestling champ?”

“Way ahead of you.” She grabs the yellow and dashes off two final circles in a vertical chain, with the foremost being connected to Quinn and Finn. “Noah Puckerman, ‘Puck’ to everyone except Rachel at this point. Finn’s best friend, and Quinn’s, uh, partner in drama. And Lauren Zizes, who mostly just likes Puck because she enjoys reminding him that he’s never been able to beat her bench press record.” She pushes back and surveys her work; she’s not normally visually inclined but she thinks she’s managed the perfect blend of style and practicality. She turns to Tina. “Got all that?”

Tina frowns, squinting to try to read one of Artie’s notes. “What does ‘slow burn’ mean?”

Artie laughs. “Ok, maybe it’ll be better if you just figure it out as you go.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, and then Tina asks, “What about you?”

Artie’s defensive instincts pick up again.

“What about me?”

“I mean, no offense, but a glee club doesn’t seem like the right kind of scene for an aspiring rapper, even a white one.”

“Okay, first of all, I can actually sing,” Artie huffs. “And play guitar, which really came in handy in the early days before the school board sent the band’s budget through the roof even though we’re the only ones giving them gigs.”

“But what made you try out in the first place?”

Artie sighs. “Because Mercedes wanted me to. What was I gonna do, say no? And when I joined, there were literally four of us. I never thought we would have actual expectations and shit.” She pauses. Something about Tina’s probing makes her curious about something.

“How about you? Why did you audition?”

Tina sits back in her seat, her gaze drifting towards the ceiling. “I’ve always been able to sing. At least, I think I can sing well enough.”

“Oh, trust me, you can. I know it can be intimidating sharing the room with people like Rachel and Mercedes, but if I can hang with them on the same stage then you certainly can. Your voice is straight-up beautiful.”

Tina smiles. “Thanks. But I’ve never really thought about it - I mean, I’ve never had a “thing” before. Like, everyone has a box they fit into, some kind of shorthand signal for who they are. They do sports, they do theater, they play an instrument, whatever. And I’ve always just kind of… existed.”

Artie smiles sadly at that. Too much of Tina’s story is sounding familiar, so she tries to lighten the mood.

“I mean, whatever you end up doing, you’ll certainly make it fashionable.” She gestures to Tina’s ensemble, which somehow manages to make a combination of metal spikes and black satin look downright majestic.

“But that’s just it, right? Like, everyone calls me a goth because of the outfits, but really I just like making things look theatrical, and this is the easiest way to do that if you also kind of want everyone to ignore you.” She shrugs. “Which has worked well enough. But I’m also not gonna get into any halfway decent college if I don’t at least look like I have a personality. So I’m just kind of trying a bunch of things to see if they stick. Like, Mike talked me into trying out for the academic decathlon yesterday. Will that be any fun? I have no idea, but at least it’s something, you know?”

“I’m gonna be completely honest, I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“Exactly.” Tina grins. “Looks good on the resume without making me stick out too much. And I know Glee is probably a bit riskier, but I figure you already have so many more recognizable personalities that I’ll be able to blend into the background without too much trouble.”

“Well, if anyone ever does give you trouble, just let me know.” Artie grins. “There’s no one at this school that’s been able to outrun me yet.”

“Oh, I have no doubts about that.” Tina smiles back, before glancing toward the clock on the wall. “Well, speaking of academic decathlon - I should probably get going; Mike promised to help me with sports trivia. But I’m really glad I stopped by.”

So maybe this year won’t be so lonely after all. “Yeah, me too.”

“Oh, and Artie?”

“Yeah?”

“You should go for it.”

Before Artie can ask what she means, Tina disappears out the door.

***

As nervous as he thought he would be about becoming the Titans’ starting safety as a freshman, Mike Chang hasn’t been at all intimidated by running around with the much bigger athletes on the Titans.

But somehow watching Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez command a stage together has got him truly terrified.

Most of the kids in this Glee Club seem to be at least pretty good at what they do - and Rachel and Mercedes are genuine freaks of nature - but dancing is his art, and he’s never seen anything like this.

_“I’m up against the speaker_  
_Tryna take on the music_  
_It’s like a competition_  
_Me against the beat_  
_I gotta get in the zone (get in the zone)”_

Santana’s choreo is much simpler, but they play off each other perfectly, with the kind of natural chemistry he knows it takes years to master. Whatever Santana lacks in natural athleticism (and compared to anyone but Brittany, she doesn’t lack very much at all) she makes up in seemingly being able to anticipate Brittany’s every move a split second before it happens.

_“If you really want to battle_  
_Saddle up and get your rhythm_  
_Want to hit it chick-a-tah_  
_In a minute I’mma take you on (I’mma take you on)_  
_I’mma take you on,_  
_eh eh eh_  
_All my people on the floor_  
_Let me see you dance (I wanna see ya)_  
_All my people wanting more_  
_Let me see you dance (I wanna see ya)”_

Brittany commands the center of the room as if she had an entire troupe of backup dancers at her disposal, and with Santana bobbing and weaving around her, it almost feels like she does. It’s the kind of showcase that makes him suddenly grateful for Coach Shannon’s two-a-days, because if he wasn’t already in football shape he would have no hope of being able to match this.

The vocal performance is just as telling - Brittany is doing incredibly just to get the words out with the way she’s moving, but Santana is more than picking up the slack with a voice as strong and confident as he’s ever heard, and they blend together ridiculously well. Mike doesn’t really know a lot about music beyond the basics, but he figures a lot more of it could stand to sound like this.

And then it gets to the bridge and the energy shifts.

_“So how would you like a friendly competition_  
_Let’s take on the song (let’s take on the song)_  
_It’s you and me baby we’re the music_  
_It’s time to party all night long (all night long)”_

The music cuts out, and Santana spins Brittany around to deliver the lyrics straight to her.

_“Hey Brittany, you say you ought to lose control_  
_Come over here I got something to show you_  
_Sexy lady I’d rather see you bare your soul_  
_If you think you’re so hot_  
_Better show me what you’ve got.”_

Santana’s voice never breaks, but the intensity in her delivery takes on an uncomfortable edge, and Brittany stumbles as her partner helps launch her forward - it’s only for a second, and she recovers quickly, but as the song comes to a close with the two girls finishing back to back Mike wonders what it would take to actually knock them off their game.

As Santana tentatively accepts Brittany’s high five and they both make their way to their seats, Mr. Schue steps forward with a grin on his face.

“Excellent work, Brittany! That’s exactly the kind of show stopper that’s gonna put us over the top.” Mr. Schue waves a marker in the air for punctuation. “And once we add Mike into the mix, I think we’ll have our knockout punch for Sectionals.”

Mike raises his hand. “Sounds great, Mr. Schue and that performance was incredible, but I”m curious about what your plan is for the ensemble - a few standout solo performances and a haphazard overall presentation feels like it’s just running back the same plan you had last year.”

Mr. Schue laughs nervously. “One thing at a time. I believe we have Artie up next.”

As the girls exchange places, Mike tries to catch Brittany’s eye to let her know she knocked it out of the park, but her eyes make it clear that she’s a million miles away as she sits next to Santana, who looks like she’s trying to turn invisible by sheer force of will.

So instead he looks over at Tina and realizes that he can tell exactly what she’s thinking (which - when did that happen?)

_Whatever’s going on there, let’s avoid it at all costs._

***

_Now I’m stronger than yesterday_  
_Now it’s nothing but my way_  
_My loneliness ain’t killing me no more_  
_Now… I’m… STRONGER!”_

It’s a lot more belting than Artie is used to, but the enthusiastic applause, both from her old friends and from Tina, tells her she nailed it.

“Now that's what I call a Britney showcase! Those were your best vocals since _Lean on Me;_ you keep that up and we’re gonna have to keep finding solo spots for you.”

Artie grins. “Thanks, Mr. Schue, but I’m not really trying to outmaneuver anyone here - so you can relax, Rachel,” she teases her captain, who had sat up rigidly in her chair at Mr. Schue’s remarks. “I just wanted to introduce the newbies to what the New Directions are all about. That song isn’t in my normal range, but I workshopped the arrangement, I practiced the hell out of it, and it came out pretty damn well. Anything you think you’re good at, give it a shot - even if it goes horribly, you’ll be better off for having tried it.”

“She’s right.” Sam pipes up. “Like, with the benefit of hindsight, I was never gonna make the synchronized swimming team, but now I know that synchronized swimming is a sport that exists. Totally worth it.”

“Yes, Sam. Exactly like that.” Artie gestures to the audience. “Whether it’s Finn learning to dance, or Quinn learning to play guitar, or Mike learning to sing. Oh yes,” she adds as Mike starts to object, “we’re gonna make sure the world appreciates your voice by the time you’re done with us, make no mistake about that. So take risks, push boundaries, and who knows?” Her eyes shift toward where the Unholy Trinity is sitting together, Santana looking distinctly uncomfortable and Quinn looking downright murderous. “You may just find a version of yourself that you never even knew you were looking for.”

“Dude, what the hell, how am I gonna make my inspirational speeches if you jack my style?” Finn calls from the back row. And if he’s impressed, Artie knows she was exactly as successful and exactly as corny as she needed to be.

She grins. “Sorry, Hudson, that’s what’s so fun about versatility - we get to pettily try to one-up each other even more than we already do.”

“And on that note, I think we’ll take five,” Mr. Schue interjects. “I really need a coffee run, but when we come back, Rachel will close it out for today.”

There’s a current of nervousness that ripples through the room at that - Artie has tried her best not to stare, but Rachel’s recreation of the Britney outfit is terrifyingly accurate, and it’s been building tension as the elephant in the room for the last hour. So before whatever fresh horrors await them on the other side, she rolls herself out of the room and towards the cafeteria, because caffeine really does sound like a good idea.

“Artie!” The call breaks her out of her thoughts, and her pulse quickens as Brittany bounds up alongside her.

“Hey, Britt! How’s it going-” Artie pauses, realizing what it is about that exchange that felt so off. “Wait, did you just call me Artie?”

Brittany frowns. “Why, has your name changed?”

Artie laughs. “No, it’s just - I don’t think you’ve called me anything but my full name and, uh, title.”

“Oh!” Brittany looks genuinely taken aback, and Artie is only getting more confused. “I mean, yeah, it was a fun joke, but I figured it was getting kind of old at this point.”

“You mean you didn’t-”

“No, Artie, I didn’t actually believe you were literally the goddess of the moon. At least, not after I saw your car.” She tosses Artie a wink, and Artie wonders if everyone she does that to is as disarmed as she is right now. “But you seemed to like it, so I rolled with it.”

“Oh.” The script Artie normally uses on girls is completely flipped - now she’s the one that’s turning bright red. “Well, thank you. I did like it quite a bit, to be honest.”

“Anyway, that song you sang - it was really powerful.”

“Well, it was either this or _I’m a Slave 4 U._ Not one of the more difficult choices I’ve ever made.”

The joke doesn’t knock Brittany off track.

“Have you ever been lonely even when someone else is right next to you?”

It’s a gut punch, but Artie manages to take in stride. “Yeah. All the time.”

“How do you fix it?”

Well, that’s about as open as an invitation as she’s ever gonna get. Even though it still feels like she’s about to make a very bad decision.

“Tell you what. This feels a little heavy for the McKinley hallways. How about you and I grab a coffee sometime?”

Brittany frowns. “Like we’re doing right now?”

“No - later.”

She doesn’t say _‘as a date.’_ She’ll let Brittany decide whether she wants to pick up the implication. There’s a painfully long pause, long enough for Artie to get properly furious with herself for being so stupid, so arrogant, for pushing the issue again even though she knows it’s doomed -

“I’d like that.”

Or perhaps it wasn’t as bad a decision as she thought.

***

Rachel has stage fright.

She _never_ has stage fright, at least not when Jesse St. James is nowhere in sight.

But her arms are cold, her neck is cold, and she can’t help but feel the walls closing in as she notices that Santana’s eyes are boring holes into her collarbone while Quinn’s remain fixed on the blank patch of wall to her left.

Which is pretty much the exact opposite of what she needs to feel confident about this performance.

 _It’s just a performance._ Sure, it’s not in her usual wheelhouse, but neither was _Don’t Stop Believin’,_ once upon a time. This is just another test of her versatility, a crucial building block toward a winning season, and an opportunity to prove once and for all that she’ll never be a liability. So she puts on the most confident smile she can manage as she nods to the band, who have somehow managed to procure a set of synth keyboards straight out of 1999 for the occasion.

_“Oh baby baby, how was I supposed to know_  
_That something wasn’t right yeah”_

She tries to keep it light - this isn’t the kind of song that calls for an over-serious delivery, but Quinn still won’t look at her and she can feel a wave of awkwardness rolling across the room.

_“Oh pretty baby, I shouldn’t have let you go_  
_But now you’re out of sight yeah”_

She tries to find Finn and Kurt to steady herself, but Finn looks like he’s trying not to laugh and Kurt is giving her a sympathetic but concerned look that tells her all she needs to know - this is quickly becoming a trainwreck.

_“Show me how you want it to be”_

Fine. If none of her actual friends are going to take it seriously, she might as well deliver this performance to the person who actually asked for it. She locks eyes with Santana, whose sarcastic grin doesn’t quite have the edge it usually does. Yeah, she can work with this.

_“Tell me, baby, cause I need to know_  
_Now, oh, because”_  
_My loneliness is killing me, and I_  
_I must confess I still believe, still believe”_

Brittany, who had been bobbing her head along to the music, now looks distinctly unhappy as Rachel climbs the riser and leans down to deliver the next lines while looking directly into Santana’s eyes.

_“When I’m not with you I lose my mind,_  
_give me a sign”_

Santana’s eyes widen, and Rachel knows she’s won. She turns around and leaps off the riser, spinning and pointing straight at Santana as the song comes to an end.

_“Hit me, baby, one more time!”_

The rush of the performance quickly wears off when Mr. Schue tries to start a nervous round of applause that nobody else joins in. Tina and Mike look utterly baffled, Kurt and Finn look like they’re about to jump into full damage control mode, and Brittany looks like she’s imagining Rachel’s head on a pike. Even Puck is giving her a questioning look, which has to be a new low.

(It takes all her effort, but she manages not to look for Quinn’s reaction. She can’t afford to get hung up on that now.)

“Nice job, Rach!” Artie tries to give her a high five as she makes her way back to her seat, but she doesn’t react in time and has to mouth an apology as she sits down.

“Uh, great job as usual Rachel.” Mr. Schue, for possibly the first time, seems to realize his lesson plan has gone a bit off the rails. “Though I should probably make clear for our new members: while you should always feel free to embrace your creative instincts to their fullest potential, you aren’t actually required to be in costume for rehearsal.”

Rachel doesn’t miss the look of relief on Tina’s face.

“And that’s all for today - we’ll pick this up again next week.”

As they make their way out of the room, Santana saddles up next to her. “When?”

Rachel frowns. “When what?”

“Christ, you’re such a sore winner. When do you want to cash in your free meal, asshole.”

“Oh my god, I didn’t think you were actually serious.”

Santana’s face is actually burning, which Rachel doesn’t think she’s ever seen before. “Look, let me be clear: I’m only doing this so that I can bury this like the missing Watergate tapes and ensure that you are never, ever, allowed to bring it up again, and because I’d rather endure forty-five minutes of suffering than a lifetime of smug implications that you were able to get one over on me - not that I’m saying you did.” She doesn’t bother putting any conviction behind the caveat, probably because she knows it’s an obvious lie.

Rachel laughs. “A lifetime? Come on Santana, I thought I was the one for melodramatic exaggerations. You’ve made it perfectly clear that you’d prefer to spend as little time with me as humanly possible, and that’s not gonna be very difficult after we graduate.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

Rachel follows Santana’s gaze to where Brittany is leaning over to whisper something in Artie’s ear.

“I guess not.” Out of the corner of her eye, she finds Quinn, whose look of surprise shifts to one of apologetic chagrin. She turns back to Santana.

“Tell you what. I don’t think either of us is in the right headspace to try to bond over how much we dislike each other right now, and we both have more important air to clear. So we’ll call it a rain check for now - but don’t think I’m gonna be easy to get rid of. I know we have no reason to care about each other, except we both care about Quinn. And as far as I’m concerned, that’s more than good enough for me.”

Santana rolls her eyes. “There’s not a single word of what you just said that didn’t make me want to preserve you in a jar.” It’s the colorfulness of the insult that tells Rachel that even if the antagonism won’t end any time soon, at least they have something of an understanding.

And sure enough, Santana’s eyes soften for the briefest moment as she nods towards Quinn. “Go.”

Rachel doesn’t need to be told twice. As she makes her way over to her friend - at least, she hopes she still is - she can already feel her cheeks heating up again.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

She’s acutely aware that she’s still in the damn costume - which was pretty fun when she was able to get into the number but now feels like she’s wearing one of Kurt’s snakeskins.

“What did you think?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked Quinn for feedback on a performance, and she’s somehow even more nervous this time than she was before Sectionals.

“It wasn’t your best.” Rachel nods meekly but then notices that Quinn is smiling. “But it wasn’t your worst, either.”

The tightness in her chest slowly starts to abate. “I mean, it was never gonna beat _Run Joey Run,_ so I can’t say that’s much of a comfort.”

“Oh, no, _Run Joey Run_ was a masterpiece.” Rachel raises an eyebrow because she can’t believe Quinn just said that with a straight face, but Quinn only shrugs. “I was talking about _Total Eclipse._ Though I can’t say I was a huge fan of _Gives You Hell,_ either.”

Rachel grimaces. “Yeah, neither of those was one of my proudest moments.”

“The point is, I’m sorry. Not everything you do has to be perfect, and I shouldn’t have tried to box you in like that.” Quinn is finally looking at her, the suffocating judgment of the last week melting away, and Rachel finds every breath passes a little easier even as her heart isn’t close to slowing down. “And I should have trusted you to hold your own against Santana, because I’ve never seen anyone get under her skin like that. Even me, and believe me I’ve tried.”

The words hit Rachel with a flood of relief. She’s never been happier for a Glee lesson to be over.

“Thank you. I was so scared I had messed this up again.” She averts her eyes. “As absurd as it is to say after all these years, I really hate fighting with you. And I’m sorry for pushing so hard with Santana. It was stupid to try to rush things.”

Quinn frowns. “Hey.” She reaches out and puts a tentative hand on her shoulder. “We knew this wasn’t gonna be easy, not with all the baggage between the two of us. But we’ll figure it out, regardless of what anyone else has to say. I’m not going anywhere.”

Rachel’s heart feels too heavy to be able to respond, so instead, she just holds out her arms.

When Quinn steps into them, she holds her as tightly as she can, trying to convey without words how determined she is to reciprocate that promise.

And later, when Quinn is driving her home, her car radio turned to the alt-rock station she became enamored of over the summer, she marvels at the fact that for maybe the first time in her life listening to music in silence is as thrilling as making it herself.

_“You are the only exception_  
_And I’m on my way to believing”_

***

Finn picks up the football, massaging the laces as he gets into his stance. “Alright, dude, you ready?”

His receiver scoffs. “I was born ready, Hudson.”

Finn nods. He launches into his three-step drop, flips his hips, and delivers a perfect pass.

The ball bounces off Quinn’s hands and falls unceremoniously to the uneven grass.

“GodDAMMIT.” Quinn shakes her head. “I swear these things were designed to torture me.”

“Oh, don’t sweat it, Quinn, you can’t be good at everything.” Kurt finishes tying his sweater around his waist as he sets up diagonally opposite Finn and holds out his hands for the ball.

Quinn scowls. “I don’t see why not, frankly.” As if to prove a point, she mimics Finn’s throwing motion and zips a tight spiral straight into Kurt’s chest, which knocks him back a couple of steps.

“And take a little off it next time,” Kurt grumbles, re-gripping the ball and lobbing it up towards the fourth member of their party.

“I got it, I got it!” Rachel traces the arc of the ball, the Cincinnati Reds baseball cap Finn gave her shielding her from the sun, and softly plucks it out of the air.

“That’s my girl!” Finn shouts. “I told you you would be good at this.” He doesn’t say anything about how Rachel’s subsequent pass lands about ten feet short of him, because what Kurt said was true, after all.

This cycle repeats itself several times, Quinn growing increasingly frustrated with every pass she bobbles, but it’s not until a Kurt pass sails high and Rachel extends all of her 5’3 frame to snatch it out of the air that she lets out an audible “Oh, COME ON.”

“Are there any rules against girls on the Titans?” It should be a joke, but Kurt sounds deadly serious, and come to think of it Finn doesn’t actually know. “Because I think you would be our second-best receiver by default.”

“Incredible.” Quinn shakes her head with a look of mock frustration. “I’ve been tossing it around with you jocks all summer long and still can’t catch to save my life, and when we finally get Rachel to participate she picks it up instantly. It’s not right.”

“Well, it’s not your fault that my fingers are twice as long as yours.” Rachel shrugs. “Sometimes it pays to have man-hands.”

Quinn grimaces like she’s been kicked in the stomach. “That’s not- you don’t have- God, I’m so sorry-”

“Quinn? I was kidding.” Rachel bumps her affectionately with her shoulder. “Besides, I wouldn’t even know a football from a frisbee in the first place if it wasn’t for you.”

“Um, hello? Right here?” Finn objects, but Quinn just jokingly flips him off.

The banter gets interrupted by his mom poking her head out of the doorway. “Hey, kids? Dinner’s ready!”

“Alright, we should get going.” Rachel picks up her water bottle, takes several deep gulps, and then hands it to Quinn, who instantly does the same.

Finn frowns. “You can stay if you want. It’ll be a tight fit, but the table is big enough.”

“I appreciate that, but we’ve had a pretty long week, and Rachel’s VHS collection isn’t going to watch itself.” Quinn digs into her bag and hands Kurt a cd. “Here’s _Phantom_ back - any more cast albums you want to assign me this week?”

Kurt shakes his head incredulously. “How are you burning through these so fast?”

“Ditching the Cheerios has given me more free time than I could ever know what to do with.” Quinn shrugs. “It only seems fair that I make the effort, even if I still think Michael Crawford’s voice makes _you_ sound intimidating.”

Kurt lets out a restrained laugh. “Well, take a week to recharge before we start in on Rent - you’ll certainly need it.”

“Whatever you say, man.” Quinn turns to Rachel. “Ready?”

“When you are.”

When Quinn finally pulls out of their driveway, Rachel laughing at something she said from the front seat, Finn turns to Kurt as they make their way inside. “So, at least this is going well?”

Kurt nods. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over the absurdity of Quinn not only acknowledging my existence but forcing herself to have things in common with me, but I can’t say it’s not better than the alternative.” He reaches back to close the door of the back porch behind them. “And if that was all there was to the big Rachel-Santana clash I was dreading, then we may have just put the worst behind us.”

Finn starts to respond, but when they get to the kitchen he stops in his tracks, his blood turning cold.

His mom is on the phone, her face absolutely white, and as she hangs up Finn instinctively shoots out an arm in case Kurt needs to grab onto something.

“Get in the car. It’s your father. We need to get to the hospital now.”


	3. Grilled Cheesus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's what you missed on Glee: The New Directions took on a Britney Spears tribute assignment and it went just as well as you would expect. Artie has a not-so-little crush on Brittany and it's becoming apparent that Brittany's friendship with Santana isn't the same as what is was before Regionals. Oh, and Burt Hummel may or may not be in the hospital.
> 
> And that's what you missed, on Glee!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays guys! Here's our late X-mas present, brought to you by multiple rewrites and stress!
> 
> Chapter written by - Oliver / theMaskedMan

Finn’s never been a particularly religious man. Still, he’s lived in rural Ohio long enough to be eerily familiar with the face of Jesus staring at him from the walls of every home he’s ever entered. Except Puck’s. And Rachel’s. And Kurt’s. Whose home is now also his. Okay, so maybe not every house he enters, but definitely a lot of them. Either way, he knows enough to know that just last Sunday he found himself staring into the face of the Lord, Christ Almighty Himself, in the toasted pattern on his freshly made grilled cheese sandwich. No, his grilled cheesus sandwich.

He hadn’t taken it that seriously at first. He’d seen enough stories on the news of people seeing the Virgin Mary in hospital windows or whatever to know not to get his hopes up. But he also couldn’t really figure out how his sandwich press had left a mark that looked so exactly like Jesus. He figured there would be no harm in a causal experiment: three wishes, since this was the third grilled cheese sandwich he’d ever made for himself and religious stuff always comes in trinities. Or at least he thinks that’s a universal thing. It’s definitely a thing for Christians, which he guesses he would be if he had to pick.

He decided to test his new theory out by actually praying. He got down on his knees and clasped his hands together like they always do on TV, or that one time Quinn’s dad made him go to church. _Oh, Cheesy Lord,_ he thought, _If you let us win this first game of the year, I promise to make sure we sing, like, Jesus-y songs in Glee Club this week. To honor you. Or something._ He opened his eyes and started to get up when he remembered. _Wait, can I also be the quarterback again? Please? Also thank you. In advance. I really appreciate it._ Even if it didn’t work, he figured he had to try; he could tell Kurt was having a pretty rough start to the year, and he just wanted to try to take the edge off a little. Also, he just kind of wanted a win for himself.

Of course, Coach Shannon kept him on the bench that Friday. But Sam did play out of his mind, and Kurt set a new career-long with a 44-yard field goal, and the Titans upset Carmel by ten points. So the evidence was inconclusive, and since he hadn’t specified when he should become quarterback, there was no way to know for sure - unless he made one more wish.

The problem was, he didn’t know what else he wanted. Sure, the Brittany assignment was a total drag, but Mr. Schue had thankfully given the boys a whole extra week to put something together, and he was sure Rachel would help him whip something into shape in no time, now that her performance and her whatever-that-was with Santana was over. No divine intervention required there.

In the meantime, he needed to prove that he was serious about this. He knew enough about religion to know he needed to return the favor, even if it would definitely go over in the choir room like a lead balloon. So when he closed out the week by asking Mr. Schue if they would move on from Britney and do something Jesus-y the following week instead, he wasn’t surprised that his friends’ reactions had been equal parts stunned and horrified, especially Puck’s, which came with a sharp elbow to the ribs.

“Dude, I know you want out of Britney Week, but don’t pick a cure that’s worse than the disease.”

But before Finn could respond that he was completely sincere, Mr. Schue had already uncapped his marker, and Finn knew he had won.

“Finn, I think that’s a great idea, but I’m not sure how inclusive that would be given the makeup of the club.” He pointedly hadn’t looked at Rachel or Puck. Instead, he turned around to write the word “Spirituality” on the whiteboard. Finn had figured that must be good enough.

Puck was quick on his feet and evidently decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, saying that while he didn’t “do Jesus,” he could give his closest approximation, at which point he grabbed a guitar off the wall and launched into a concerningly well-rehearsed rendition of _Only the Good Die Young._ Which wasn’t surprising - he knew Puck would find a way to mock the assignment even on short notice, and that this kind of teasing was his way of keeping things light between them, which always seemed to be a struggle these days.

Still, the song choice was a problem, and Finn wasn’t at all prepared for just how uncomfortable it made him - because if there was anything in his life that was really making him uneasy, it was his relationship with Rachel. Not because things are going badly - the opposite really - but because despite feeling like he should be happier than he’s ever been, he can’t shake the worry that something is missing, and he can’t figure out what. It isn’t so much that they’re moving slowly as they’re stuck at a standstill, circling cautiously around each other. They obviously both like each other a lot, but they have no clear sense of what the other actually wants, and the few times either of them has tried to take things further the other inevitably draws back, which has ended in more than a few awkward moments for both of them.

But as tempted as he was to ask Jesus for guidance, he knew he couldn’t do it. For one thing, Rachel’s Jewish, and he figures it isn’t ethical to invoke the power of a Christian sandwich for help with an interfaith relationship, especially not without telling her. Besides, what would he even ask for? Their last attempt at escalating things had involved a much too small bed and his discovery of the term “side-boob.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to continue down that path at all, much less with Jesus’s help. Also, he’s pretty sure supernatural intervention wouldn’t count as enthused consent, or whatever it was his mom sat him down to talk about when he started dating Quinn. So despite Puck’s pointed glances towards him on some of the more loaded lyrics, he knew that he needed a different solution.

He had been turning over this problem in his head the entire ride home on the day everything went to hell, with Rachel chattering away next to him about how she could still appreciate the artistry of a good hymn and Kurt and Quinn tuning her out by arm wrestling in the back seat (Quinn won every round, but Kurt kept it surprisingly close, much to Finn’s pleasant surprise). When he saw how happy Rachel was to be out in his backyard with the three of them, even willingly touching a football, it was easy to forget all his problems, forget all his uncertainty, and even forget that the Grilled Cheesus had ever existed.

Until that phone call turned his world upside down.

He’s sitting in the choir room with Rachel on his right and Kurt on her right. Kurt hadn’t left his dad’s bedside since they heard the news, but Finn thought he was going to snap if he had to sit in that clinical white room with its buzzing fluorescent lights for another day, and his mom agreed that it would do them both some good to go to school today. Looking over at Kurt’s ashen face, he’s not so sure his mom was right, but he supposes this is better than him making the same face staring down at his dad in the hospital. Finn feels bad about leaving his mom alone there, but Rachel’s hand in his is warm, and Quinn somehow manages to generate a sense of security just by sitting silently beside them both, so he feels marginally better.

“Alright, everyone,” calls Mr. Schue entering the room with a slightly more subdued tone than usual. “I think what Puck started us off with yesterday was a great foundation, but I think we should try some new stuff today.”

“What, was Billy Joel not good enough for your delicate Christian sensibilities?” Puck is clearly just posturing to try to defuse the tension in the room, and Finn appreciates it even though it doesn’t work at all.

“While I appreciate your ability to think outside the box,” Mr. Schue starts, “I don’t think that was the most appropriate interpretation of this week’s theme, and I think we both know why.”

 _“Only the Good Die Young_ is a masterpiece, and it’s about Catholic schoolgirls, so clearly, it’s relevant to this group.” Puck turns around to wink at Santana behind him but she doesn’t appreciate the gesture, swatting at the back of his head.

“Puck, I don’t want to hear it right now.” Mr. Schue actually sounds serious for once. “I think this week’s lesson is going to be good for this club, and I want everyone to take it seriously. You all know how meaningful it’s become since yesterday.”

“Don't you dare try to turn my dad's heart attack into a lesson plan.” Everyone turns to look at Kurt, who hasn’t spoken a word since he left the hospital this morning. “Prayers won't do a damn thing for him.”

“I mean, that’s not necessarily true, Kurt. Don’t you think you could use all of the positive energy you can get right now?” Mercedes and Artie have been camped out on the other side of the room, saying they didn’t want to crowd Kurt, but they don’t look too happy about the fact that Rachel and Quinn came in and did just that.

“No, Mercedes. I don’t need energy. I need to be at the hospital talking to the nurses about actual physical stuff that I can look at and understand and-”

“Hey, um, I think we’re all on the same side here, and we can have both, right?” Finn looks between the two of them and tries again. “Everyone here can send out their thoughts or prayers or whatever, and the nurses can make sure that all the science stuff is being taken care of.”

“I don’t need you to patronize me, Finn. Since when do you care about religion anyway?”

Finn instantly regrets dragging himself into this, but if it’s what Kurt needs, he can be a punching bag. “If I had known what was going to happen, or that you were going to get this upset over it, I wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Kurt’s jaw works, but in the end, he just goes back to staring at the wall and ignoring everything going on around him, while Finn tries desperately and unsuccessfully to fight the feeling that he’s utterly powerless.

***

Kurt mostly tunes out the doctor as he stares down at his father’s limp hand in his. He stopped listening sometime after the third time they explained to him that they don’t actually know anything, and they’re basically useless. Apparently, there was something wrong with his Dad’s blood and he wasn’t getting enough oxygen in his brain and that’s why he had a heart attack, but now he won’t wake up and nobody is doing a damn thing to help him.

He keeps squeezing his dad’s hand, but he won’t squeeze back. He always used to squeeze back. Always. When they would hold hands crossing the street when he was little, or when he held on for dear life while his mom poured antiseptic over his skinned knee when he was in elementary school, or at her funeral later that year. “Dad, please. You’re all I’ve got left.”

“Knock, knock.” Mercedes waits a second before pushing back the curtain. They couldn’t afford a private room, but luckily the bed behind them is currently unoccupied. “I brought flowers,” she says, setting down a giant vase full of lavender and jasmine and chrysanthemums.

Kurt sniffs and blinks a few times before turning around to thank her.

“I’ve been thinking about what Finn said, today in rehearsal. I don’t really know what I can say right now. But, I know when I’m upset, there’s a song my church choir always sings when someone in the congregation gets sick and we’re all praying for them.” Kurt doesn’t think he’s ever seen Mercedes look this uncomfortable about singing, so he gives her a small nod.

_“As I lay me down_  
_Heaven hear me now_  
_I'm lost without a cause_  
_After giving it my all”_

Kurt keeps his gaze trained on his father’s hand and doesn’t say anything.

_“Winter storms have come_  
_And darkened my sun_  
_After all that I've been through_  
_Who on earth can I turn to”_

He squeezes his eyes shut when she starts in on the chorus, and he thinks this is about as far from helpful as she can get.

_“After all my strength is gone_  
_In you, I can be strong_  
_I look to you_  
_I look to you_  
_And when melodies are gone, yeah_  
_In you, I hear a song”_

After another round of the chorus and a quick cooldown, she sits down in the chair on the other side of the bed and ducks her head to look him in the eyes. “Kurt? Are you alright?”

“Not really, Mercedes. I’m kind of pissed, to be honest.” She recoils a little in her chair and he looks up again. “You know how I feel about- about all that stuff. Why do you need to rub it in my face?” He kicks himself when he sees the anger and hurt in her face - he knows that this is something he’ll have to fix, whenever the world stops collapsing around him.

“Kurt, you know that’s not what I was doing. You don’t have to believe in anything you don’t want to, but you can still appreciate that I’m trying to help in the only way I know how to. Because we’re friends and I care.” He doesn’t miss the note of accusation in her voice, and he knows it’s entirely deserved, and not just for today.

He also knows he’ll only make things worse if he tries to deal with all of this at once, so he just takes her hand, hopes that she reads the gesture as a promise, and asks the only question he can.

“How do you do it? How do you just believe something like that? How am I supposed to just believe he’s going to wake up without any doubt?”

“Kurt, there’s no such thing as belief without doubt. And I can’t tell you how to believe something. You just have to. Or, if you need, I can do it for you.”

He deflates and just starts sobbing. He hasn’t let himself cry once since it happened. Mercedes puts a hand on his shoulder and stays with him through the whole thing.

***

Finn wanted to go to the hospital with Kurt right after school, but Rachel held him back, saying it was important to give him some alone time with his dad.

He gets it, he does. But for some reason, he wants to be there too. He’s felt sick all day. Now he’s standing outside Burt’s hospital room, his hand tight in Rachel’s, Quinn’s hand in her left.

“I’m going to run downstairs to get some snacks. I’m sure he hasn’t eaten a thing all day. You two go in.” Quinn gives a little wave and is gone before Rachel has a chance to object. Finn gives her hand a little tug, and they head in together.

The first thing Finn notices is the gigantic bouquet on the table. “Mercedes?” he asks. She’s the only one who would have thought to do something like bring flowers. Finn wishes he had thought of that. Not that he particularly likes flowers, but maybe Burt does. Why doesn’t he know whether Burt likes flowers? They’ve been living together for months, and Finn doesn’t even know if Burt likes flowers. Rachel gives his hand another squeeze - she’s been doing that a lot lately - and guides him over to the empty chair.

“How is he?” Finn’s voice comes out a lot scratchier than he thought it would.

“He apparently hasn’t changed since last night. At least that’s what your mom said before she left for her shift. She says she wants to save her vacation days for their honeymoon. She said it’s what he’d want. I don’t understand how everyone can just act like they know for sure that everything’s going to be okay.”

“That’s just it though.” Finn actually laughs a little bit and it scares him. “She doesn’t know anything. Like, at all. And she’s just as freaked out as the rest of us, and I can’t help her, and I can’t help you, and I couldn’t help dad, and now I can’t help Burt, and I- ” Kurt puts up his hand to stop Finn’s rambling.

“You’re doing plenty just being here. I appreciate it.” His gaze slides over both of their faces. “Both of you. You didn’t have to come,” he says to Rachel.

Rachel makes a wet noise from the back of her throat. “Kurt, of course, I had to come. I’ve spent all summer in and out of your house. I’ve had more dinners there than I probably had at home the whole break. You guys,” she says, taking Kurt’s free hand with her own. “You guys are my family. I don’t know if this crosses a line, but I kind of wanted to sing a song.”

Finn doesn’t know if singing is the most appropriate thing to do in a room with a coma patient and his family, but Rachel’s Rachel, and this is kind of how his world works now. He just shrugs at Kurt who gives a fake exasperated eye roll and an almost genuine smile.

Rachel takes that as permission and takes a breath.

_“Papa, can you hear me?_  
_Papa, can you see me?_  
_Papa, can you find me in the night?”_

If it’s possible, Kurt’s smile grows both more genuine and more exasperated when he realizes what she’s singing. Finn vaguely recognizes it from one of their movie date nights that Kurt always inexplicably ends up crashing.

_“Papa, are you near me?_  
_Papa, can you hear me?_  
_Papa, can you help me not be frightened?”_

It finally clicks where Finn knows this song from. He’s pretty sure Barbra’s dad dies in that movie, but only Rachel would overlook a detail like that for the sake of art. He locks eyes with Kurt and shakes his head, a smile growing on his face too because there are only about five people in the whole world who would let her get away with something like this, and two of them are in this room.

_“The trees are so much taller_  
_And I feel so much smaller_  
_The moon is twice as lonely_  
_And the stars are half as bright”_

“Bravo,” says Quinn from the door, her face an exact mirror of Kurt’s. Finn realizes with a start that he actually looks like he normally would if you ignore the bags under his eyes. “I brought coffees.”

She starts to pass them out when a nurse comes in to remind them there are only supposed to be two visitors at a time. Rachel and Quinn immediately make to leave, but Rachel’s foot catches on the leg of Finn’s chair and she spills her coffee all over the both of them.

Finn catches Quinn’s eye to make sure she’ll be alright alone with Kurt before dashing out of the room after Rachel to clean the burning liquid off his shirt.

***

Kurt closes his eyes and braces himself for another sermon of some kind. He loves Mercedes and Rachel, he does, but he’s gonna puke if he has to hear another song about how the Lord Almighty is going to come down and revive his dad.

“How are you doing?” Quinn frowns. “I’m sorry, that was thoughtless. I know I have no idea what you’re going through, but I do know what it’s like to lose a father. It sucks.” She shrugs like it’s just that simple, and Kurt guesses maybe it is. “You at least seemed to do well with Rachel’s little performance.” She nudged his shoulder playfully in a way that would have felt completely alien just a year ago.

“It’s not the first one I’ve heard today. Mercedes was in here earlier with some song from her church. I really appreciate the gesture, from both of them, but it really isn’t helping.” He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know why he’s telling her all of this. It’s not like the former president of the Chastity Club would understand. “When my mom got sick, I prayed for her non-stop. I remember hours by her bed just begging for help from anyone who could hear me. No one answered, and she died anyway and I blamed myself.”

Quinn opens her mouth to protest. “No, I know it’s not my fault,” Kurt says, “I know that now. It just took me a while to realize that. I always thought maybe I wasn’t praying hard enough, but now I know there’s just no one listening. Or, at least, if there is, they don’t care.” He looks over at Quinn and winces. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m unloading all of this on you. I don’t mean to spit on all of your beliefs to your face.” He sighs. “I know I should be gracious about it, but it’s hard not to feel alone when everyone believes there’s some benevolent, all-powerful being who’s going to bring my father back to me, and I just… don’t.”

A painful silence follows. Kurt can’t bear to meet Quinn’s eyes; they’re still not close enough for him to be able to read her very well, and he can’t stand the prospect of seeing more pity and disappointment. But then she speaks.

“You know, I don’t believe either.” Kurt whips his head around to look at her. “I kind of stopped believing around the same time I got drunk and then pregnant and lost just about everything I cared about. I mean, I’m happier now than I ever was then, but you can’t really go through something like that and come out without any scars.”

“I had no idea. I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing he can say, though he can’t help but marvel at how suddenly this new Quinn Fabray, and what he finally has to acknowledge is their burgeoning friendship, has come into focus.

“Don’t be. I haven’t talked about it with anyone. Rachel and Santana don’t really get it, and Brittany wasn’t raised religious. It’s a very specific breed of trauma we ex-Christians share.”

Kurt smiles sadly. “Mom was always the religious one, so we stopped going after she died anyway. Sometimes I wonder what-if, but it never does me any good.”

“If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, I’d probably be singing to you right now,” she jokes, giving his shoulder another little push.

“It’s really not the singing I mind.” Quinn raises an eyebrow, but Kurt just shrugs. “At this point, people showing up for impromptu bedside performances might be the most normal thing in my life.”

“I mean, if you think it might help, why don’t you sing something that you believe in?”

Kurt thinks about it for a second, but looking down at his hand still stuck in his father’s it’s not a hard choice.

 _“Oh yeah, I'll tell you something_  
_I think you'll understand_  
_When I say that something_  
_I wanna hold your hand”_

Quinn puts her hand over her mouth to hide her giggle, and Kurt has to look away before he does the same. Maybe he’s being a little cliche, but he’s always loved this song.

_“Oh please, say to me_  
_You'll let me hold your hand_  
_Now let me hold your hand_  
_I wanna hold your hand”_

He squeezes his eyes shut, willing his dad to respond. Just a twitch, anything. Nothing happens, but he swallows and finishes the song anyway.

_“Yeah, you've got that something_  
_I think you'll understand_  
_When I say that something_  
_I wanna hold your hand”_

He keeps his head ducked as tears start streaming down his face for the second time that day.

***

Finn stares in shock down at the boy lying on the table in the makeshift nurse’s office off the side of the locker room. “Sam, I am so sorry. This is all my fault.”

Sam frowns and tries to push himself up before wincing and remembering not to put any weight on his right shoulder. He seems confused, and Finn realizes he must have no idea what’s going on. “It’s not your fault I got tackled. It’s kind of how football works isn’t it?” He tries for a grin, but it reads more like a grimace. “Besides, that play won us the game, so…”

Finn’s second wish had come true in the worst possible way, and he’s starting to wonder if his Grilled Cheesus isn’t malevolent. Kurt didn’t even play today; Coach had him sit it out on the sidelines, saying he was in no condition to get out on that field. And when Sam led the offense onto the field after a game-tying touchdown to run a two-point play with nobody to kick the extra point, armed with a foolproof play call that Finn had whispered in his ear moments before, the linebacker who had been cheating right all night came flying out of nowhere to blow up the naked bootleg left and send his throwing shoulder into the turf with far too much force. After a frighteningly long delay to get Sam stabilized and off the field, Mike Chang had secured his first career interception and Finn was sent onto the field to quarterback the victory formation, feeling nothing but disgusted with himself.

Sam is still staring at him expectantly. Finn scratches the back of his head and grimaces when his hand comes away completely soaked in sweat. “So, uh, are you religious?”

“Dude, I’m from Kentucky. Take a wild guess.”

“So… yes?” Finn isn’t sure he knows where Kentucky is on a map, but maybe it’s in the Bible Belt? Is Ohio in the Bible Belt? It definitely has to include Salt Lake City, right? Sam nods, and Finn mentally congratulates himself for getting that right. His sixth-grade geography teacher can suck it.

“Okay, so the other day I made this grilled cheese sandwich, right?” The pain on Sam’s face lessens somewhat as it's overtaken by pure confusion; now he knows how Finn usually feels. “Okay, so I made this sandwich, and dude, I swear the grill patterns looked exactly like the face of Jesus. I’m sure of it.”

“Where is all of this going?” Sam wiggles backward a little bit, pressing himself against the wall. “You’re starting to sound a little unhinged there.”

“Okay, so I see the face of Jesus in my grilled cheese sandwich, and I’m like, ‘Holy crap, I get to make three wishes, right?” Sam frowns but doesn’t say anything, so he keeps going. “So, I wished that we would win this game, which we did.” He waits for Sam to nod along with him before he continues. “Okay, and no offense dude, but I also wished that I could be the quarterback again. I kind of have to keep the status symbol so I can keep Kurt safe. Because we’re in the Glee Club, that makes us walking targets. But, anyway, I didn’t think that you’d have to get injured for me to get my position back. I’m really sorry, dude.”

“Okay, ignoring everything else right now, because wow is that a lot to process, why am I not a target?”

Finn avoids eye contact. “Well. You were the quarterback. It’s kind of as simple as that. But even if you’re not,” he adds hastily, “I can make sure no one messes with you. Or, at least I can try. I’m already doing it for both of them.” He glances over at Kurt and Puck who are chatting by the lockers, obviously waiting for him without trying to look like it. Puck says something that actually gets Kurt to crack a smile. “Although, you and Puck have less to worry about since you could actually probably win a fight.”

Sam laughs incredulously, looking down pointedly at his dislocated shoulder.

“Or at least you’ll be able to in a month or so.”

Sam closes his eyes, his discomfort starting to give way to exhaustion. “You know, I guess I’ll take you up on that offer, though I have to say, if you start going around telling other people about your new magic Jesus powers, I think that’ll be plenty to keep them at bay.”

Finn knows he’s being sarcastic, but the words stop him in his tracks. Yes, his wishes hadn’t come true without complications, but they had come true. And if there’s any chance at all he’s somehow stumbled onto a direct line to something, anything divine, he can’t live with himself if he doesn’t try to use it to save Burt’s life.

He makes sure to apologize to Sam one more time before he passes out, then makes his way over to Puck and Kurt, doing his best to ignore their perplexed stares.

“Sorry, I just had to talk about, uh, quarterback stuff. You know since I’m taking the position back over.” Neither of them looks particularly impressed with his excuse, but if he’s right he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise. “Just wait a few more minutes for me to shower and then we can head back to the hospital.”

As soon as he’s out of sight, he gets to his knees in the otherwise empty locker room. _Your Holy Cheesiness,_ he thinks, _I’m super grateful for everything you’ve done so far, but I want to make my final wish now that I know you’re for real. I need you to wake Burt up. He’s a really good person and I know for a fact that he gives people discounts when he knows they’re going through hard times. Anyway, thank you times a thousand, but I need to get in the shower._

He races through his shower as quickly as he can before herding Kurt and Puck into the car. His leg bounces excitedly through the whole trip, and the other two keep shooting him weird looks, but he makes a silent promise that he’ll explain it to both of them and Burt all at once.

First he has to be sure, so when they get to the hospital he books it up the stairs, not bothering to wait for the elevator, ignoring Kurt and Puck’s joint cry of “Hey, wait up!” He navigates the floor by heart - he’s spent too much time there this week not to have committed the layout to memory - and bursts into Burt’s room to find… Burt, still hooked up to all of his machines, pale and lifeless. His stomach drops to the floor. He turns around and runs back down the hall before Kurt and Puck even make it up to the room.

He beelines it to the bathroom and just stares at his reflection in the mirror. He knows what Mr. Schue and a good number of his friends would tell him to do in this situation: let it out through song. Of course, the last time he stared at himself in the mirror, steeling himself to sing his feelings, things went really, really wrong. Then again, they’re already about as wrong as they’re going to get.

_“Oh, life is bigger_  
_It's bigger than you_  
_And you are not me_  
_The lengths that I will go to_  
_The distance in your eyes_  
_I've said enough”_

He stares at his reflection and wills something, anything to happen. He just needs a sign, just one and he’ll take it all back and he’ll go to church and he'll do anything. His first two wishes came true, why not this one?

_“That's me in the corner_  
_That's me in the spotlight_  
_Losing my religion_  
_Trying to keep up with you_  
_And I don't know if I can do it_  
_Oh, no, I've said too much_  
_I haven't said enough”_

Is it because he wanted the first two more? He didn’t. He really didn’t. The first two were selfish and superficial, but when he asked for something real, he got nothing. Now he’s going to lose the closest thing to a dad he’s got left, and who knows what’s going to happen to Kurt, and he was actually stupid enough to believe that a grilled cheese sandwich was going to fix that.

_“I thought that I heard you laughing_  
_I thought that I heard you sing_  
_I think I thought I saw you try_  
_But that was just a dream_  
_Just a dream, just a dream”_

“Bro, seriously, what the hell is going on?” Finn snaps his head around in horror to find Puck standing in the doorway. He must not have locked the door. Then again, Puck definitely knows how to pick locks and he’s been pretty distracted so odds are fifty-fifty.

“Nothing’s going on. I’m just a little freaked out.” He wipes the sweat off his forehead and tries to steady himself.

Puck shakes his head. “You hyperventilate when you get freaked out. You don’t sing R.E.M. to yourself in a public bathroom.”

Finn smiles weakly. “First time for everything, right?”

Puck’s face only hardens. “Nah. You’re not bullshitting your way out of this one. You barely talk to me all summer, I roll with it, don’t want to be a drama queen, fine. Then you let that Evans kid psych you out of your quarterback job and throw the worst passes I’ve seen from you since the fourth grade, but you’d rather find your peace of mind with Berry and Hummel, and I roll with it - gotta be a good wingman and gotta look out for our tragedy of a kicker, right? But I’m not your sidekick Finn, I’m your best friend, and you can’t keep dragging me along without ever letting me in on what’s going on in that big empty head of yours. So out with it - why are you “losing your religion” when it’s something you never had in the first place?”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m about to lose a father I never had in the first place!” Finn shouts the words before he even realizes what he’s saying, and it’s only when he sees the shock on Puck’s face that the implications of what he just said begin to sink in.

“I’m sorry, I-"

“Save it.” Puck holds up his hand. “Take a walk with me. I feel like you have a lot to get off your chest. We’ll figure out the apologies later. Just like we always do.”

As Puck throws an arm around his shoulder that’s somehow rough and gentle at the same time and ushers him out the door, Finn’s never felt more relieved to feel tears spring to his eyes.

***

Kurt has absolutely no clue what’s going on with Finn, but Puck promised to go after him, so he figures he’ll be as okay as he can be.

He takes his place by his dad’s side, ready for another long night hoping for something that won’t come. Carol’s been taking the shifts that start right when they got out of school so she won’t be back until around midnight. Until then, it’s just him and his dad.

“Anyone home?” Kurt jumps. He must have dozed off because Artie is right next to him, her finger jabbed into his bicep. “I heard you’ve been sleeping in the hospital by yourself all week. Kurt, visiting is one thing but sleeping? In this rickety excuse for a chair? You know you can tell us, right? We want to be here with you.”

“We?” Kurt looks around and there’s Mercedes, Quinn, and Rachel all lined up with food and blankets and more flowers.

“Sitting here alone with your thoughts isn’t doing you any good and we’re not going to let it go on throughout the whole weekend.” Artie gives his arm another jab, less painful this time so he knows she’s not actually upset.

“You do know there’s a limit of how many people can be in the room at once, right?” He can’t try to give any of them a genuine response; the words simply wouldn’t come out.

“Don’t worry about that,” says Artie with a wink. “I’ve got it covered.” Kurt’s not sure he wants to know exactly what that means, so he doesn’t ask. Instead, he gestures them all over into a group hug.

“What can we do, Kurt?” Mercedes asks. “We want to help you on your terms.”

“I think right now I just need to sit,” he says. “But I wouldn’t mind the company if you want to stay.”

Artie gives him a signature grin. “I’m pretty good at sitting.”

Kurt and Mercedes both laugh, and his two friends surround him while Quinn drags Rachel around to the other side of the bed.

They sit like that for hours, just soaking in each other’s warmth. Mercedes and Rachel both have their heads bowed, but they’re silent. Artie, despite her promises, isn’t able to get away with her scheme once they actually bring someone into the other bed. Still, she did make him promise to get some real sleep once Carol shows up, kissing him on the cheek as she and the rest of their little band were politely escorted out of the room, leaving Kurt utterly exhausted but with something of a renewed resilience.

He’s just about to doze off when Finn comes in, and he jerks awake in surprise.

“I thought Puck would have taken you home.”

“Nah, we just talked for a little while. I had a lot to get out. It’s been a long week.”

“Yeah, I know.” Kurt doesn’t mean to be rude, but he doesn’t need someone else telling him it’s been a long week. Finn flinches just the littlest bit as he sinks into the other chair, and Kurt feels a stab of regret.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I know you must be in hell, and I can’t even imagine.” He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I just feel like I’ve spent all week focusing on how you feel, and I haven’t taken any time to talk about how I’ve been feeling, and I was talking to Puck just now, and I think I kind of worked out what’s been so off.” Finn looks up, trying to gauge some kind of reaction from Kurt, but he doesn’t really know how to respond given he has no idea where this is going. “I just kind of realized that I was really starting to think of Burt as a dad, um, before all of this. I know it’s not the same thing, but I’ve kind of been losing my mind over this. Like, I already lost a dad, and I don’t want that to happen again. Especially, because I actually have good memories with Burt.” His voice turns up at the end like he’s asking Kurt’s permission to say these things.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Kurt doesn’t really know how he didn’t notice that. Reading people is kind of his thing. Then again, Finn has always been able to take him by surprise.

“I mean, it’s totally fine. You’ve had other stuff on your mind, obviously. I, uh, actually wanted to apologize to you, for pushing the Jesus stuff. I mean, not like I knew what was going to happen, but I kind of had this, um, spiritual crisis a couple of weeks ago.” Again, it’s not a question, but he says it like one. “I really thought Burt was going to wake up today, and when he didn’t, that’s kind of when I snapped.”

Kurt tries to meet his eyes with the most reassuring expression he can manage. “It’s not your fault. Either he wakes up, or he doesn’t, and none of us have any control one way or the other. We all have to find ways to-” His voice starts to break, so he tries to distract himself with the one thread of curiosity that’s been hanging in the back of his mind this whole time.

“What kind of spiritual crisis?”

“Okay, so you know how I made that grilled cheese for lunch last Sunday?” Kurt doesn’t keep track of what Finn eats, but he nods along, equal parts intrigued and concerned. “Okay, so when I looked at it I swear…”

Kurt feels something in his hand. He looks down and sees his dad’s hand give a small twitch. Just a little one, but it definitely happened.

Finn leaps to his feet, having noticed it too. “Wait, he just-”

Kurt nods, his face flooding with tears as the worst stress of his life finally begins to abate. “He’s waking up.”

Finn pauses, as if unsure what to do, but only for a moment. “I’ll get the nurse. Sit tight.”

With a nod of understanding towards Kurt, he’s out the door in a flash. Kurt, silently thanking his most unlikely friend for giving him this moment alone, takes his father’s hand in both of his and lets out a sob of pure relief.


	4. Duets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's what you missed on Glee: Finn had a spiritual awakening, which was quickly complicated by his soon-to-be stepdad, Burt Hummel, being admitted into the hospital following a heart attack. The New Directions attempted to cheer Kurt up using their own variations of spirituality but to little success. Thankfully, Burt ended up recovering and the New Directions are ready to get back in gear.
> 
> And that's what you missed, on Glee!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may notice that this chapter, along with Audition, was written by Cecelia, who normally writes Ryan Murphy's episodes. Our third writer, Micah, has stepped down as a primary writer. They will continue to work with the group to plan things out, however, as well as write a few special chapters here and there.
> 
> Chapter written by - Cecelia / TheRealRyanMurphy

“Alright, you ready?”

Rachel looks up at Kurt and nods. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Ok, on three. One, two, three, LIFT!”

And with that, mercifully, the two of them manage to get the very large tire off the garage floor.

At least for about three seconds, after which Rachel’s knees buckle and her half of the burden sinks to the ground.

“Sorry,” she pants. “It’s just heavier than I expected.”

“You really need to ease off the elliptical and get some weight training in,” Kurt mutters. He knows he sounds like a jock, specifically like Puck, and he kind of hates himself for it. But it’s also the kind of blunt honesty that he knows Rachel only gets from him.

“Oh, shut up, you know I’ll never be a bankable leading lady if I get too muscular.”

“That’s-” Kurt cuts himself off because he knows better than to get in an argument about industry standards with Rachel, so instead he turns to the side of the garage, where Quinn is digging through one of his dad’s hopelessly disorganized toolboxes looking for god knows what.

“Hey, Quinn, a little help here?”

“Yeah, I got you.” She makes her way over to them, her jeans stained from an earlier mishap with a carburetor and three different screwdrivers slipped into her vest pocket. She gently nudges a grateful Rachel aside, and when she takes her place they easily manage to maneuver the load over to where Finn has just finished securing the back tires.

His dad had been meaning to fix up the car for ages. It had taken them a while to convince Carole to let them do it themselves while he recovered, but between Finn’s appeals to financial responsibility and Kurt demonstrating his willingness to change into raggedy jeans borrowed from Quinn and a muscle shirt borrowed from Puck, they had eventually gotten the green light.

“Thanks, guys.” Finn rises to his feet and takes a moment to stretch out his arms. “I gotta say, I’m impressed with how well you’re handling this.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow. “Finn, I’ve been hanging out at Hummel Tires and Lube my whole life. Just because I didn’t pay rapturous attention doesn’t mean I didn’t pick up anything.”

Finn looks suitably chagrined, at least. “Right of course - I just meant Quinn and Rachel; not because they’re girls, just cuz - you know what? I’m gonna stop talking now.”

Quinn laughs, giving him a sympathetic pat on the back. “No worries - I used to help my dad change the tires all the time. One of the few memories of him I’m actually inclined to keep.”

“And I,” Rachel pants, still doubled over, “am trying my best.” She looks up at them with a faint smile. “That counts for something right?”

“That’s why we keep you around,” says Quinn with a wink, slinging one arm around Kurt and the other around Finn.

He takes in a sharp breath - even her casual grip is frighteningly strong, and it presses a bit too hard on a spot that hasn’t fully healed yet. Fortunately, no one else notices.

Rachel, apparently still searching for an adequate comeback, raises herself up to her full height - such as it is - and tries to affect an aura of intimidation. “Shut up, sweetheart.”

Quinn is polite enough to bite down hard on her lip and keep her composure, but Finn busts out laughing, which gives Kurt the opportunity to slip away and spin on his heels to ask Quinn the question he’s been dreading.

“By the way, Quinn, I need a favor.”

“Shoot.”

(He almost laughs at how casually she talks to him now.)

“It’s about the duet competition. If Rachel’s singing with Finn-”

He didn’t ask them if that was the combination. He didn’t need to.

Quinn gives him a bemused smile. “You’re asking me? I’d assumed you would go with Mercedes and I’d go with Santana since Artie and Britt are off the table for both of them.”

Kurt starts to correct her but is interrupted, of course, by Rachel.

“It’s an interesting idea, though I don’t know if your voices would be the best fit - maybe if Kurt sang in his lower register, and maybe if you found the right song. Sinatra, maybe?”

“Before you continue to insult me,” Kurt cuts her off with a glare, “it’s actually about Sam.”

Finn looks up from where he’s helping Quinn fasten the last tire into place. “What about him?”

“He asked me to sing with him.”

Rachel’s eyebrows shoot up. “You think he’s into you?”

Kurt shakes his head. “He insisted he had, and I quote, ‘no dishonorable intentions.’ He was just glad to meet someone else like him, and he wanted to team up.”

“And you turned him down.” Quinn’s not asking a question.

“We all know what singing with me will do to him, and he’s in enough danger as it is, being out of the closet with only one good arm to protect himself. The only problem is he’s brand new, and unlike Mike and Tina, he came in by himself. So in saving his life I’ve left him twisting in the wind.”

Finn frowns. “What about Puck? I know they haven’t gotten off to a flying start, but they’re still teammates. I could probably-”

“Maybe you could, but it wouldn’t matter. Puck’s in Juvie.” Quinn rises off the ground and takes off her gloves, throwing them onto the workbench and then looking up to notice their stunned expressions.

Finn drops the wrench he was holding. “Since when?”

“Since last night. He called me; you know we talk every week.”

A year ago Kurt wouldn’t have been surprised, but at this point he kind of is. He was just running laps with Puck after practice a couple of days ago - their agreement for this season was that he would force Puck to do cardio in exchange for Puck forcing him to lift. “What did he do?”

Quinn shrugs. “Apparently he was taking Lauren for a joyride on his motorcycle, swerved to avoid a jaywalker, and crashed into a roadside ATM. Cops let her go but booked him, because of course they did.”

Finn still looks panicked. “How long is he gonna be in there - and how are you so calm about this? ”

“It’s only a couple days; they know it’s bullshit, they’re just dragging their feet. And I’m calm because it could have been a lot worse. He’s safe, and he’ll be back in no time.”

“But not in time for the competition.” Kurt feels a bit guilty trying to change the subject back to show choir, but this can’t wait. “And besides, even if he was, you’re both missing the point. Sam needs to sing with a girl.”

“I always did appreciate how cynical you were.” Quinn’s mouth twitches upward. “So you’re saying that I should be his beard.”

“I’m not saying pretend to date him.” He says it with a meaningful glance towards Rachel, who had started glowering at him. “I’m just saying sing a song with him. How hard can it be?”

“Yeah, because the New Directions have such a sterling reputation for keeping things collegial. It’s never just a song.” She looks at the ground, probably to avoid meeting Rachel’s questioning gaze. “Plus he just got here - I don’t want to screw him up with my grimdark Catholic bullshit before he’s even settled in.”

“Oh, get over yourself.” Kurt shoves her gently with his shoulder. “Besides, he’s gay and he’s been through some shit. You’ll probably hit it off right away.”

Quinn’s expression darkens. “Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of.” She shakes her head. “I can’t leave Santana out to dry.”

“She can sing with Lauren - if anyone’s a match for her personality, it’s her.”

It’s the weakest part of the pitch, and Kurt knows it. But he has to bring it home now.

“C’mon Quinn, Santana’s not going anywhere. But we barely have enough guys as it is - we need Sam to stick around, and the best way to do that is to make sure he doesn’t get himself killed. Please. Do it for me.”

Finn gives him a weird look, which he knows he deserves. But he threw in that last part to test out a theory, and when Quinn’s eyes flicker from his to Rachel’s and back, he sees exactly what he thought he would.

Her resistance crumbles. “Fine. But no promises what I’ll do to him if he does that McConaughey impression again.”

***

As the number comes to a close, Rachel takes a running leap to high five Finn.

“Babe, that was incredible.”

Finn’s out of breath, but at least he looks genuinely happy. “Picked up right where we left off at Regionals. We’re totally gonna win.”

There’s something in his voice, though, that gives Rachel pause.

Sure, _Don’t Go Breaking My Heart_ isn’t the best number they’ve ever done, but it’s serviceable enough, and anyway she doesn’t want to waste their real gems on a routine homework assignment with Sectionals coming up.

“I mean, probably? Kurt and Mercedes will give us a good challenge, and I actually don’t think Quinn and Santana would have been an easy out either, but Quinn and Sam won’t be anything special.”

“Plus we’ve got the big-game experience. And we’ve got you, so.”

“That is true.” She pops the CD out of her portable disc player, then notices what just went unsaid. “But you know we’re also gonna win because of you, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Finn sighs, sinking onto Brad’s empty piano bench. She keeps her eyes locked on him, because she knows there’s something he needs to say, and finally he relents.

“I feel like it’s been ages since we’ve gotten to sing together. You know, just you and me.” His eyes drop to the ground, and Rachel raises an eyebrow.

“Finn, are you blushing? I thought that was my thing.”

“Look, I know it’s been hectic all summer, and I know we’re both trying to juggle a million things at once - a million people, at once.” He takes a deep breath. “But I guess I just wanted to say - I meant what I said at Regionals. And I’m so glad we’re doing this together. I’ve kind of missed you.”

Rachel’s chest tightens. What he’d said at Regionals was “I love you.” And she had said it back - sort of - but every time she’s thought about it since the less sure she is that either of them knew what they meant.

But she knows they were both telling the truth, even if it’s not a truth she understands. She just has to do whatever she can to find it.

“Hey.” She sits down next to Finn, pulls him down, and kisses him.

It’s not the first time they’ve kissed - that honor went to a very awkward but very sweet moment in Finn’s truck, watching the sunset by the river and after a great deal of hesitation from both of them. But it’s the first time in a while, and Rachel kicks herself for letting her most important relationship get swept aside by the chaos of a new show choir season, even if it’s totally going to be worth it in the long run.

Plus, she forgot how good it feels, the way he holds her like she’s the only thing that matters.

When they finally break apart, Finn’s eyes look a million miles away. “What was that for?”

Rachel laughs. “Because I wanted to?”

Finn smiles, and it’s one of those moments they always seem to have, where they’re somehow both as happy as they’ve ever been and every bit as sad.

“Fair enough.”

The tightness won’t go away, and Finn picks up on her distress. “Okay, now it’s my turn to ask what’s wrong.”

“I’m not a very good person.”

Not what she expected to say, but as it escapes her lips she realizes it’s probably the most honest she’s ever been.

Finn, looking not at all surprised, just shakes his head. “I mean, you used to be kind of an asshole, but you really aren’t anymore. Like, even by the end of last year-”

“That’s not what I mean.” She absently grabs his hand, dancing her fingertips across his. “I may be a bit nicer, but I’m still selfish - I do what’s best for the team because it’s what’s best for me. But what if those aren’t always the same thing?”

“Sorry - you’re losing me.”

“I’ve been thinking about what Kurt said, how he’s giving up his chance to sing with the first gay kid he’s ever met so that we don’t risk losing Sam.” Her fingers still as Finn’s reassuring hand closes around hers. “And I just can’t help but think that us winning won't be good for the team - we’ll obviously get the spotlight when it matters most, but what kind of message does it send if we also take up all the oxygen in these informal competitions too? If the new kids think they don’t even have a chance to be recognized as individual talents, that’s a disaster for team morale waiting to happen.”

Finn hesitates. “Ok, yes, you’ve got a point. I can definitely see why it would be cool for someone else to win. But like, we’re us. I don’t really see how it's possible.

Rachel doesn’t want to, but she knows he’ll make her say it out loud.

“We could lose on purpose.”

Finn laughs. “Good one.”

She just looks at him and waits.

“Oh, God, you’re serious?”

“Why not?” She lets go of him and stands up, giving in to the urge to pace. “We wouldn’t even have to sing poorly, which is a relief since I wouldn’t even begin to know how to do that. All it would take was a bad song or a bad arrangement - and Mr. Schue knows what we’re capable of. If we underperform while the rest of the club is at their best, he’ll give it to someone else, and the new kids will know that this is a club where anyone can seize the spotlight.”

She can see Finn’s skepticism start to fade, but he still looks worried. “Yeah, I guess that would work. Still, you’re not the type to throw in the towel for some kind of strategic long-game. None of us are.”

Rachel bites her tongue. She’s the only one in the club that knows how wrong he is, and that secret is Kurt’s to tell.

“I just want to be the best captain I can be, whatever it takes.”

And finally, Finn’s reticence gives way. He rises up and walks over to her.

“You’re cute when you're ruthless.” He bends down to kiss her forehead.

“Let’s lose this thing.”

***

If Santana had her way, she would never sing a duet with anyone again.

Sure, it was kind of fun last year, when she got to put the fear of God into Rachel Berry without even trying particularly hard, and when she and Mercedes had found it just as easy to make a show choir cyborg like Jesse St. James see ghosts.

And for a brief moment just a couple of weeks ago, when she had been able to lose herself in the music - no, lose herself in _Brittany_ \- she had almost started to believe what Rachel was always going on about when she talked about the electricity of two voices becoming one.

But now she’s losing her best friend to the safer, sweeter, less complicated charm of Artemis goddamn Abrams, and she has only herself to blame. And even though she knows Quinn will probably give her a pity invitation to team up once she’s gotten back from wherever Berry’s got her tied up in god knows how many ways, she still can’t stomach the thought of having to pretend that she wants to sing with anyone but herself.

But as she sits on the steps in front of a secluded side entrance to the McKinley gym, trying to ignore the ache in her chest from how much she misses cheer practice, someone unexpectedly sidles up next to her.

“Thought I might find you here.”

She looks up to see Mercedes taking a seat, and while she would normally bristle at the presumptuousness, she can’t really deny that the girl has grown on her in the last year - it’s hard not to like someone with that much talent who manages to not be a raging bitch, a combination Santana has certainly never pulled off.

Mercedes gestures towards the gym, where the sharp blast of Coach Sylvester’s whistle punctuates the squeak of athletic shoes against hardwood even from here. “Hell, sometimes even I miss it a little.”

“What do you want?” Still, can’t be letting her guard down too much.

Mercedes just smiles. “Something tells me you don’t have anyone to sing with either.”

Sure, Santana is every bit as much of a Glee loser as Mercedes is at this point - and hell, Mercedes is technically every bit as much of a National Cheer Champion as Santana is. But to be publicly pitied by someone she used to fly so far above is just one more kick in the teeth than she can bear.

“Well, your ‘something’ is full of shit. I’m singing with Quinn.”

“She tell you that?”

“She’s going to.”

“Uh-huh.” Mercedes trains her eyes on the horizon. “Even if she does, I know you remember last year as well as I do. Rachel and Kurt have had their moments, but at the end of the day, we both know we’re the two best singers in Glee Club. If we sing together, we win.”

“Yeah, a date neither of us wants at the most pathetic excuse for an Olive Garden knockoff in the Midwest. It’s just one of Mr. Schue’s stupid gimmicks.” Santana picks at a loose string on her jeans - she’s still not used to walking around the school in civilian clothes. “And anyway, since when do you need me for this? I know Britt stole your friendship-bracelet-girlfriend, but why can’t you just sing with Hummel?”

Mercedes scoffs. “You’d have to ask him. Haven’t heard a thing.”

“He doesn’t actually think Berry’s gonna pick him over the chance to remind us that she's totally, definitely dating the overgrown puppy dog, does he?”

“I don’t know what he’s thinking, and frankly I’m starting to wonder if it isn't a waste of my time to try to find out.” Mercedes pulls the hood of her sweater up as a cold wind buffets both of them; Santana rubs her arms enviously.

“And look, I know he’s going through a lot - I don’t hold it against him that he’s doing what he has to do, and if he doesn’t need me that’s his prerogative. But I can’t be that girl who keeps waiting on something that’s not coming, you know?” She fixes Santana with a resolute stare. “And I’m not gonna let anyone else’s problems stop me from making the most of my talent with the time I’ve got left.”

Santana thinks back to last year, when her friendship with Quinn almost slipped away, and wonders if the same thing isn’t already happening again. With Rachel and her inner circle pulling Quinn away at every opportunity and Brittany drifting toward Artie, she’s at serious risk of ending up entirely alone.

What she says is: “Ok first of all, next time you need to vomit up your feelings, find a trash can. I don’t roll that way.”

She’s about to continue when her phone buzzes. She reaches into her pocket - the one benefit of turning in her Cheerios blazer - and flips it open.

 **Q**  
I’m really sorry about this, but the new football kid is gonna get left out if no one takes him; if I bail him out, do you have a Plan B?

She doesn’t. And Quinn knows she doesn’t. She’s probably trying to get Santana to cover her ass so she can refuse what’s clearly an idea that came from the captains, probably Hummel.

But this time, Santana doesn’t feel like coming to her rescue. She looks Mercedes in the eyes.

“Second of all, meet me right here after school tomorrow. I know exactly how we’re gonna win this thing.”

As Mercedes slowly breaks out into a surprised grin, she makes sure to text Quinn back:

yeah I’m good  
worst decision you’ll make all year :P

***

“Tina, for the last time, the answer is no.”

Tina presses her hands into her forehead. “It’s a duet competition. We both have to sing. I don’t see how you can argue this.

“They recruited me as a dancer. I auditioned as a dancer. I got in as a dancer. No one is going to care if I just dance around you.”

“Well, maybe I care!” Tina throws up her hands. “Maybe I’m insecure about having to be the only one to sing by myself, did you ever think of that?”

“Um, guys?” Artie calls from the other side of the empty classroom. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to this dilemma, but we really do need to start practice.” She turns to Brittany, who’s been chewing loudly on spearmint gum since the moment she entered the room, which hasn’t helped Tina’s mood at all. “How do we practice for academic decathlon, anyway?”

Brittany shrugs, popping the loudest bubble yet. “I made some flashcards about the different presidential assassinations if you want to run through them. It’s about a three in ten chance that that’s one of the categories at some point in the season.”

Artie grimaces. “I assumed we would start with like, sports trivia or something. Not that any of us would know any.”

Mike sighs. “You do remember I play football, right?”

Tina knows she should be taking charge of the proceedings - she was one who convinced Artie and Brittany to join in the first place, giving them enough players for a roster that won’t lose by automatic forfeit. But she’s too curious to start just yet.

“How are you guys doing with your duet?” Tina asks Artie. The girl just rolls her eyes.

“It turns out trying to do Glee homework on a first date is a total buzzkill. We know we’ll knock the choreography out of the park, but we can’t find a song that works for both our voices.”

“I still don’t understand why we can’t do _In The End,”_ Brittany mutters. “It’s right in your wheelhouse.”

“I will never dignify Linkin Park’s fraudulent claim to rap and that’s final.”

“Wait, wait hold up.” Tina smiles. “You guys are officially dating?”

Mike elbows her gently in the ribs. “Dude, not cool.”

“What? I’m nosy, I don’t deny it.”

Artie turns bright red, but Brittany just nods. “Neither of us has ever had a girlfriend before, and we were already getting coffee to talk about feelings and stuff. And it would have been really confusing if that hadn’t been a date, so we decided to make it one. And now we both have girlfriends, so we’re happy instead of being sad for no reason.”

Tina looks at Mike, who just shrugs and swallows back a laugh. “Makes sense to me.”

Tina shakes her head. “Wait, no, this is a big deal though - aren’t you worried about what people will say? Isn’t this school really dangerous for… you know, your situation?”

She cringes - she knows she probably sounds like a conservative asshole, but she’s never actually met any lesbians in real life, and she has no idea what the right words should be.

“Well, fortunately, the venn diagram of people who would come after me for being bi and the people who don’t already come at me for everything else isn’t super large,” Artie says dryly. “And there are ways for girls to become invisible when we need to, right Britt?”

Brittany scowls. “Not when you used to be a cheerleader, there aren’t.”

Artie tentatively reaches a hand out but then seems to think better of it, swinging back toward Tina and Mike. “So we’re still working out the kinks. But we have fantastic chemistry and sick dance moves, and at the end of the day that’s really what matters.”

“Huh.” Tina still isn’t convinced - something about them seems off, but someone with as little experience as she has probably can’t judge. “So I imagine I can’t convince you to let me sing with you and have Mike and Britt do a dance duet, which would easily solve all of our problems with this stupid assignment?”

Artie laughs. “Sorry Tina, maybe next time. You’ll just have to take a cue from us and think outside the box.” She reaches for the index cards. “And now we really do have to practice, and since Britt was the only one who bothered to prepare for this, presidential assassinations it is.” She clears her throat.

 _“How many points did Ross Perot gain in the polls after Dan Quayle accidentally put poison sumac in President Bush’s elderberry wine during the afterparty of the 1991 RNC, and was this significant to Clinton’s final margin of victory_ \- Britt, did you write these yourself?”

“Coach Sylvester helped. She said she owed me a favor for everything she did last year.”

“Ok, s-”

“That’s it!” Mike jumps out of his seat, bringing three heads around to stare at him.

“Sorry. I just remembered that video you sent me, where you two did that incredible dance to _Dream A Little Dream_ \- doing things together that would be physically impossible for either of you to do alone.”

Artie’s eyes widen. “You have an idea for what we should sing?”

Mike frowns. “What? No.” He turns to Tina with an excitement in his eyes that’s positively infectious, not to mention adorable. “I have an idea for what we should sing.”

“What?”

_“Sing!”_

“ ...dude, what?”

“Oh come on, haven’t you ever seen _A Chorus Line?”_

Tina shakes her head, her bemusement growing by the second. “I have literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It’s only the only Broadway show that matters. You really haven’t-” He cuts himself off with a smile. “Ok, it’s gonna take a while to nail down the timing, but I promise the result will be golden. Do you trust me?”

“Uh… I guess?” Tina wishes she had a more enthusiastic answer, but she honestly has no idea where this is going. Her almost-friendship with Mike never used to be this bizarre, even when she was openly crushing on him.

“Good enough for me. Now come on, I think the choir room might be free, we can get a head start.”

As he springs out the door as quickly as he does everything else, she gets up and follows, because no matter what he has planned it's certainly going to be more interesting than academic decathlon. She shoots an apologetic glance toward Artie and Brittany. “So sorry guys - we’ll do this some other time. Good luck on your duet!”

And with that, she leaves her new friends casting doubtful glances at each other as she races down the hall, hoping Mike will give her a chance to catch up.

***

The longer it goes, the more Sam wonders if being in Glee Club really does carry some kind of curse.

First he busts his shoulder and loses his football career before it even begins.

Then he tries to get to know the openly gay kicker with the seriously kickass countertenor - something that would have been an impossible dream back in Kentucky - and he can barely get Kurt Hummel to give him the time of day, even though he made it very clear he wasn’t trying to hit on him.

And now he’s getting some kind of vile ice drink washed out of his hair in the girls’ bathroom by someone he’s never even spoken to. And sure, he’s gotten into some jams before, but usually he was dealing with crude melee weapons at worst. These McKinley kids are sociopaths - his scalp is absolutely burning.

“You’re Quinn, right?” Might as well get to know the girl who’s currently got him in a gentle headlock.

“Yeah - sorry we had to meet like this, but I’m kind of the Glee Club’s designated first responder at this point.”

She releases him to reach into her purse and grab a comb, which lets him finally get a good look at her in the mirror. He’s immediately struck by flashes of green.

“You have really pretty eyes.” He says it without thinking, then cringes. “Sorry, that was stupid.”

Quinn’s eyebrows twitch upwards. “I thought you were gay.”

Sam laughs. “Ok, first of all, I don’t have to be into you to notice something like that. And second of all, I do actually like girls too. Funnily enough, no one ever asks me about that.”

Quinn smiles, raking the comb through his hair a few times to get the last bits of ice out. “So are you into me?”

Sam laughs. “I mean, I know we’ve gotten close quickly, but I’d kind of like more than thirty seconds to figure that out if it’s alright with you. But you are pretty, and you seem nice. So if we were gonna be friends to start with, I think I’d like that.”

Quinn nods, finally letting him go and handing him a towel, with which he gratefully takes control of his own hair again. “You’re not a love at first sight type. I get that.”

Sam shrugs. “I was with my first boyfriend - hell, it was even faster than that. All it took was hearing his voice for the first time and I was a goner.” He shakes his head; he can’t afford to get lost in those memories. “But with girls, it always takes longer - I have no idea why.”

“We do like to draw things out, don’t we?” Quinn smiles almost to herself, then looks back up at him and seems to make a decision. “Alright, follow me.”

“Where?”

“Choir room - we’re gonna practice our duet.”

Sam’s grateful he’s trailing behind her so she can’t see him blush. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. It’s either me or Lauren Zizes, and we’d really prefer you don’t injure any more ligaments before Sectionals.”

“I see. So this is a committee decision. Does a certain sequin-wearing football player have anything to do with it?”

They’ve just made it into the empty room when Quinn stops in her tracks, turning around to grab his wrist. “Kurt knows how cruel this place can be better than any of us. If he seems cold, he’s only doing what he has to to protect you, to protect all of us.”

She sounds deadly serious, and Sam wants to believe it, but it still stings.

“I just wanted to sing with him.”

Her grip relaxes, and she slides her hand down to his. “Word of advice? If it matters that much who you sing with, that 'just' is never going to be honest.”

“You sound like you know from experience.”

She pulls back, ignoring him in favor of pulling a couple of performance stools to the center of the room. “Since I don’t have any particular desire to think of a number to sing, what’s your favorite song?”

Sam’s eyes fall straight to the ground. “Nah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“How about you let me be the judge of that?”

His eyes flicker back up to hers, and suddenly he finds himself smiling. For whatever reason, Quinn makes him feel like opening up. “Alright. But it’s pretty cheesy.”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Please. We’re in dire need of some straightforward earnestness that doesn’t come in the form of Mr. Schue’s canned aphorisms.”

“Fair enough.” He makes his way over to one of the stools and sits down. “You know _Lucky_ by Jason Mraz?”

“Oh wow, you weren’t kidding.”

Sam laughs. “Man, shut up. Do you know it?”

“Of course I do. Plays on the radio every time my mom drives me to school.”

“Perfect.” He looks around the room and frowns. “I guess we don’t have the piano player, so we’ll just have to, uh-”

“Say no more. I came prepared.” Quinn pulls open the closet where the band kids keep their instruments and takes out an acoustic guitar.

Sam’s eyes widen. “You know how to play too?”

“Puck taught me, and I permanently borrowed this from him last summer.” She sits down and starts adjusting the tuning.

That gives Sam pause - of all the possible relationship combos in this club, he really didn’t see that one coming.

“So you’re friends with Puck?”

“Something like that.”

“Think you could put in a good word for me? I think he kind of hates my guts.”

“He doesn’t hate you. He actually thinks you’re incredibly brave and he’s scared to death that something worse than a freak injury is going to happen to you, and if you tell him I said that I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.” She gives the guitar a few casual strums. “Alright, C major. You ready?”

He takes a second to absorb all that - he finds it kind of impossible to believe, except for the fact that Quinn doesn’t seem like the type to give him anything but the truth. But he tries to put it aside - there will be plenty of time for that mystery later.

“Yeah. Shame my arm’s still dead, I could have brought mine.”

Quinn slings the strap over her shoulder. “No problem. We’ll improvise - get over here.”

Sam grins, pulling his stool next to hers. “Now you’re talking.”

“You know what we’re doing?”

“Yeah - we used to do this in youth group all the time in Kentucky; there were never enough instruments for everybody.” He raises his good left arm to support the neck of the guitar and glances at her - they’re nose to nose, but somehow he doesn’t feel nervous. “Let’s do this.”

_"Do you hear me, I’m talking to you_  
_Across the water, across the deep blue_  
_Ocean, under the open sky_  
_Oh my, Baby, I’m trying"_

He places his fingers carefully onto the frets as Quinn strums away. It’s a simple enough song that it’s not a complete trainwreck, but it still takes a fair amount of concentration - which helps Sam get the words out without choking up for the first time in a year.

_"Boy, I hear you in my dreams_  
_I feel you whisper across the sea_  
_I keep you with me in my heart_  
_You make it easier when life gets hard"_

Their voices join on the chorus, and Sam almost sobs at how easy, how relaxed, how _good_ they sound together. Quinn’s eyes sparkle the entire time, and her wry smile lets him know that this is exactly as ridiculous as it needs to be.

It’s not what it used to be - and it probably never will be. But he’s finally singing with someone again - and his favorite song no longer sounds like poison to his ears.

_"Lucky I’m in love with my best friend_  
_Lucky to have been where I have been_  
_Lucky to be coming home again"_

Surprisingly, Quinn’s voice is the one that wavers a little on the chorus, but she recovers quickly.

_"Lucky I’m in love in every way_  
_Lucky to have stayed where we have stayed_  
_Lucky to be coming home someday"_

As they finish with a few “ooh ooh oohs” that quickly dissolve into embarrassed laughter, he’s struck by just how much he doesn’t care that a number like that won’t come close to winning them the competition.

They run it through a few more times, playing with different harmonies, trading off different verses, and when they’ve finally settled on a version they both agree is the best they’ve done, Quinn packs up the guitar and offers to walk him to his car.

Just before they say goodbye, Sam’s curiosity gets the better of him.

“Who’s yours?”

Quinn frowns. “What?”

“Your best friend.”

She tenses up, and he almost regrets asking, but then she gets a look at his eyes and seems to understand more than he told her. Her expression turns sad, but she smiles through it and gives him an affectionate punch to his good shoulder.

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.”

***

“What to do you mean ‘no?’” Kurt’s staring at Mercedes, but her face is partially hidden behind the open locker and she won’t so much as glance back at him.

“I mean I already have a duet partner. You’ll have to find somebody else. And anyway, I thought that Evans kid wanted you?”

Kurt tries to answer, but everything’s moving too fast and he’s left floundering in dead air.

“Who?” As if he doesn’t already know.

“Santana. You gonna answer my question?”

His heart is pounding and his head is spinning, but he finally manages to find his excuse.

“Sam - he’s brand new, reckless, doesn’t know how to keep his head down. It hasn’t stuck to him yet, but if I sing with him it’s a death sentence.”

“And I’m already as low on the totem pole as I can get, so you can afford to sing with me without any collateral damage. I get it.” Her tone is cold, and she’s twisting his words, and this is coming out of nowhere, except for the fact that Kurt knows she’s right about all of it.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He digs his nails into his palms as if the pain will help him believe he’s telling the truth. “Mercedes, we’ve sung together longer than anyone, we absolutely killed _4 Minutes_ last year. And even forgetting all of that, you’re my best friend! Since when is that not reason enough?”

“I was once.” She shakes her head. “But ever since you and Rachel had that diva-off - hell, ever since you dropped off the face of the Earth and returned drunk off your ass with April Rhodes in your pocket, you’ve been drifting away from me. And I would have been willing to chase after you if you ever gave the slightest indication that you would give a damn one way or the other.”

Her locker slams shut, and Kurt’s heart lurches in his chest, but then his defensive instincts begin to close in. “That’s not fair - you know what I’ve been through.”

“I never said it was fair. And I don’t hold it against you that you’re doing what’s best for yourself. So I need you to not hold it against me when I do what’s best for me.”

It’s the maturity that kills him - she’s mad, and she should be, but he should have known Mercedes would never give him the satisfaction of an actual fight. All she has to do is sit back while he ties himself to his own anchor and watch him sink - but it won’t change the fact that he’ll never forgive himself for letting down the best friend he ever could have had.

“I’m sorry.” It’s the most useless apology he’s ever given.

“I know.” She checks her watch. “Alright, Santana and I have to practice. You should probably find Lauren - Puck’s getting out of juvie a day early, so she won’t be available for long. And I don’t want to see you have to sing alone.”

The sincerity in her voice is one last dagger in his heart, and then she’s gone.

He gets jostled as he turns away and freezes in place - but it’s just a freshman who isn’t paying attention to what’s in front of them.

 _Stupid, stupid._ Puck’s told him over and over again that he has to keep his feet moving, that he can’t detach from his environment when the fight comes to him, but no matter how many times he tries it never seems to work. All the height and muscle he’s gained in the last year rendered useless because he has no idea how to use it properly.

But he’s okay - at least as okay as he can be right now. It was a false alarm, and Coach Shannon’s cliches about it being _better to be lucky than good_ echo through his mind as he makes his way towards the exit. He’s almost to the open doors of the school, shivering as a cold breeze rattles through, when an unfamiliar yet instantly recognizable voice cuts through the emptying hallway.

“What’s the matter lady, too cold without your jacket?”

He closes his eyes and prepares to start swinging, just like Puck taught him, but it’s too late.

It’s always too late.

***

Rachel finally understands what was going through Kurt’s mind the day he blew the last note of _Defying Gravity._ Because watching her scheme of altruistic self-sabotage unfold toward its inevitable success is actually really fun.

Quinn and Sam went first, and while the song was painfully basic even for Mr. Schue’s lax standards, the delivery was strong enough to at least give them an outside shot at winning. She’d harbored some doubts about Kurt’s master plan, but it seems to have worked perfectly: Sam and Quinn - Suinn? - have the kind of natural vocal chemistry that could easily fill in for her and Finn if they had to, and they certainly look the part.

(There’s something about that parallel that makes her stomach twist uncomfortably, but she brushes it aside; the upside for the team is obvious, and that's all that matters.)

And of course, she smiled wider every time Quinn’s eyes flickered toward hers at the title lyric and Santana mimed throwing up from the spot just above her - those two really do know how to tease her, and as much as she loves Finn and Kurt it makes her realize how grateful she is to be “one of the girls” for the first time in her life.

Tina and Mike went second, and while the novelty of their gimmick will probably prevent them from winning the competition outright, she’s encouraged by how much creativity they showed in covering for each other’s limitations. Mike’s athletic and comedic talents shone even brighter than they did at his audition, and Tina was equally brilliant as the straight woman and hit some sneakily good notes on top of it all. And sure, their chemistry might still be a little shy, but if the way they fell laughing into each other’s bear hug afterward is any indication, it won’t stay that way for long.

(Not to mention how relieved she is that someone else finally had the good taste to reach into the Broadway catalog, even if she’ll never forgive _A Chorus Line_ for absolutely robbing _Chicago_ at the 1975 Tonys.)

It’s the third slot, though, that’s rapidly changing her calculus as Santana and Mercedes make their way to the front of the room.

She tries to lock eyes with Kurt to no avail - he’s been avoiding her all week. She has no idea what went wrong, apart from a horrible suspicion that it might be at least partially her fault. And she has no idea what Kurt’s going to do when Mr. Schue calls up him and Lauren, who hasn’t so much as glanced at him today, as the last remaining members to sing their duet (Puck, upon his release yesterday, declined to join the assignment at the eleventh hour and met with little resistance). She only hopes he has some plan, any plan, because Brittany and Artie have already failed to submit a song on account of their combined voices _“sounding like the experimentally cloned daughters of Donnie Wahlberg and Gwen Stefani,”_ and she really does not want to be subjected to a stern Will Schuester speech about the responsibilities of show choir right now.

But all those thoughts leave her head in an instant when the song starts.

_"When I was a little girl I had a rag doll_  
_The only doll I’ve ever owned"_

Mercedes has a look in her eye that Rachel’s never seen before, except in the mirror.

_"Now I love you just the way I loved that rag doll_  
_But only now my love has grown"_

Santana is positively radiating confidence, so different from the subdued melancholy of the last few weeks.

_"And it gets stronger, in every way_  
_And it grows deeper, let me say_  
_And it gets higher, day by day"_

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Brittany rigid as a board despite Artie’s head resting on her shoulder. But worse for her is Kurt, whose eyes just look empty.

_"Do I love you, my oh my_  
_River deep, mountain high,_  
_YEAH, YEAH, YEAH"_

She remembers _The Boy Is Mine_ clear as day. They were good then, but they’re great now. She never knew Santana had that much power, never knew Mercedes could maintain her incredible dynamics while harmonizing that effortlessly. She hasn’t been blown away like this since Mercedes called her shot for the solo right before last year’s Sectionals, and this is if anything even more intense.

_"If I lost you, would I cry?_  
_Oh, how I love you, Baby!_  
_Baby, Baby, BABY!"_

As the surprisingly impressive horn players from the jazz band bring the song to a thunderous conclusion, the entire room explodes into the loudest choir room ovation she’s ever heard.

As she enthusiastically joins in (as petty as she can be, she’ll never shortsell a performance as transcendent as what she just witnessed), she leans in to whisper in Finn’s ear.

“I’m calling an audible. We’re going back to the original play.”

He gives her an exasperated smile. “I should have known you couldn’t resist trying to beat that.”

She shakes her head. “No, you don’t understand - I’m saying we can give this 110% and it’s still not gonna be enough. We don’t need to try to lose to that. And look around,” she gestures to the room, where the applause is still going strong and the freshmen especially have stars in their eyes. “It worked exactly like we thought it would, except for the part where we had to do anything.”

Finn’s face lights up in surprise, but only for a moment. “So we both get what we want.”

“Apparently.”

“Finn and Rachel? You guys ready?” Mr. Schue loads the question, clearly wondering if his competition just came to a premature ending.

“As ever, Mr. Schue.” Rachel takes Finn’s hand, and together they take the floor for what was once upon a time Rachel’s worst nightmare: a sportsmanlike defeat.

***

“Well, Rachel, Finn, that was very nice.” Mr. Schue doesn’t bother to disguise his disappointment. On any other day, Finn and Rachel doing Elton and Kiki would have walked away with first place.

But today it’s Mercedes and Santana versus everyone else, and the field doesn’t stand a chance. So when Mr. Schue calls his name with a disapproving resignation, Kurt can’t be bothered to feel bad about it all. He’s still stuck on the morbid hilarity of the notion that in failing his first best friend, he might have finally stopped holding her back.

“Kurt and Lauren, do you guys- “

“Uh uh Mr. Schue, I made it very clear that I sing with Puck or I sing with no one. I have no interest in compromising with the carceral state.”

(An enthused “You tell ‘em bro!” from Puck backs her up.)

Mr. Schue pinches his forehead, looking almost as beleaguered as Kurt feels. “That’s, uh, very noble of you Lauren. Kurt, I know it’s been a difficult few weeks, but do you have anything at all for me? Some kind of artistic subversion of the assignment, blurring the lines between a duet and a solo? That’s the kind of thing that’s always made you such a valuable member of this club.”

Kurt keeps his expression utterly neutral. He passed the point where he could be genuinely aggravated by Mr. Schue a long time ago.

“With respect Mr. Schue, I’d rather take a page from Artie and Britt, accept the fact that I’ve failed, and move on.”

Mr. Schue sighs. “Well, it’s your choice. But I have to say, Kurt, I’m very disappointed in y-”

“Mr Schue, can Kurt and I have a minute?”

Kurt bites back a curse. Typical Rachel, never being able to leave well enough alone.

Mr. Schue sighs in relief. “Of course you can, Rachel. In fact, everyone, take five.”

“That really won’t be necess-” Kurt’s protest is quickly cut off as Rachel grabs his hand and pulls him out of the choir room faster than he can react. Which is lucky for her, because the second they reach the hallway and he regains his bearings, he twists his arm sharply downward and promptly liberates himself.

(Puck’s self-defense techniques work wonders on girls half his size.)

“What the hell are you doing, Rach?”

“Sing with me.”

He bursts out laughing. At least Rachel’s absurd directness will never disappoint.

“Rachel, you just sang yourself into an easy second place - and don’t think I don’t know how deliberate that was. You can’t just decide you want to win after all and pick me up as a charity case. Mr. Schue will never-”

“I’m not talking about trying to win the competition; nobody likes Breadstix anyway.” She takes a quick glance back towards the room to make sure no one’s listening. “And you’re right, I absolutely wanted someone else to win, and I’m very happy Santana and Mercedes seized the opportunity. But that doesn’t mean we can’t show off a little ourselves. No prizes, nor pressure. Just you and me.”

It’s the kind of sentiment that the Rachel of old would never have been caught dead expressing, and it’s the last thing Kurt has patience for right now.

“For what? We got everything we needed - Sam and Quinn have great chemistry and can ride that plausible deniability into the sunset, and Mercedes and Santana just got everyone hyped enough to run through a brick wall. It’s the best-case scenario.”

“If I had known things were going to fall apart with Mercedes, I never would have gone along with this plan in the first place. And there’s still time, my sheet music binder has enough copies for the band of every song we’ve ever practiced together.”

He shakes his head in exasperation. “There’s no need to push things just so I can save face. Jesus, when are you gonna learn to live to fight another day? “

His words come out harsher than he means them too - a pattern that’s been recurring far too often - but Rachel doesn’t flinch, and he’s suddenly hit with an odd mixture of remorse and pride. Sometimes he forgets how strong Rachel Berry actually is.

But then she’s studying his face in uncomfortable detail, and by the time he realizes her eyes have shifted to his neck, where his normally impeccable collar has been jolted out of place, she’s already seen it. His breath catches in his throat.

“Is that from when that Carmel goon blindsided you on the kickoff?”

He manages to suppress a relieved exhale. “Yeah, must be.”

Its coloration is far too fresh for that, and Kurt’s never been more grateful for Rachel’s limited knowledge of anything but performing.

“Weird. I could have sworn he hit you from the other side.”

He shrugs, hoping she can’t sense the tension in his movements. “Must have been from my impact with the ground.” And before she can decide that she doesn’t believe it, he gives her a playful swat on the arm. “C’mon, what’s going on? Since when are you this much of a ‘mom’ friend?”

There’s silence as she fixes her gaze on his face again, every second making him feel like he’s on the verge of going up in smoke.

“You’d tell me if it was getting worse, right?”

Her voice is small and scared and full of self-loathing, and as Kurt looks at all the matching worry and insecurity in her eyes, he knows he’s not going to be able to keep her from finding out the truth. She’s too unyielding when she cares about something, and somehow (he’s still not quite sure when it happened, in between the makeovers and the diva-offs and the run-ins with alcoholic show choir legends), she cares about him.

Which he doesn’t particularly feel like he deserves right now, but then this is Rachel Berry. Being a good person was never the bigger part of the equation for either of them.

“Of course I would.” At least he can spare her a little longer, because lying for the greater good is second nature to him at this point. “But you don’t have to worry about me, Rach.”

“Maybe. But you can’t stop me.”

 _That’s what I’m afraid of,_ Kurt thinks.

“I know,” is what he says.

There’s only one end this road will come to, and he isn’t close to ready to face it now. So instead he tilts his head toward the choir room, where Mercedes and Santana are deep in animated conversation, still riding the high that only comes from a perfect duet.

“I’d love to sing with you, Rachel - Lord knows we’ve waited long enough to actually perform in front of other people, but c’mon. Even you have to admit that we can’t pull off what they just did - none of us can.”

Slowly but surely, the concern on Rachel’s face is overtaken by the devious grin of the Old Rachel - and it's as sure a sign as any that Kurt has hit rock bottom when he realizes he actually missed it.

“I do admit it.” She squares her shoulders and holds out her fist. “Now let’s show them what only we can do.”

That can only mean one thing. And much as Kurt is loath to admit it, he’s been aching for the chance to stop tiptoeing around his own life and seize control of a room. Defying Gravity, the football championship, last year’s Regionals - he’s done with letting moments like these slip away, even if the stakes are nothing but bragging rights that will be forgotten within a week.

Besides, he didn’t miss the look Mercedes gave him when she and Santana had finished bringing down the house. It carried no bitterness, no resentment, only a very clear challenge: Your move.

He extends his arm until his knuckles meet Rachel’s.

“Judy and Babs it is, then.”

Two songs, two voices, weaving in and out of each other as if controlled by the same force, only to come together at the very end with a resonance unlike anything Kurt’s ever experienced. It’s his favorite duet of theirs, not least because of how vividly he can remember how it came about: staying up until dawn trying to get the timing exactly right while Rachel’s dads were working a night shift, only to give the game away by falling asleep on the couch and waking up that afternoon to find themselves sharing his letterman jacket as a blanket and the sheet music as a pillow.

Their necks had been sore for a week, the jokes from their parents had been unbearable, and now it was time to prove that it had all been worth it, everything else be damned.

So when Kurt follows Rachel back into the room, still lonely but no longer alone, he raises up a hand to bring the room’s noise to a halt.

“Mr. Schue, if we may?”

He takes Rachel’s hand, nods to the band, and together the two of them turn to face, for the first time, an audience of a dozen.

_"Forget your troubles/Happy days_  
_And just get happy/Are here again"_

**Author's Note:**

> Our Tumblrs in case you want to send us hate (or love!).
> 
> [Cecelia's Tumblr](https://genderless-consul.tumblr.com/)  
> [Oliver's Tumblr](https://simplelittleword.tumblr.com/)  
> 


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